Day 4 (19 June): Regina, Saskatchewan (CYQR) To Dawson Creek, British Columbia (CYDQ)

CYQR – CYLL – CYZH - CYDQ

This was definitely the roughest morning wakeup of the trip.  Good ole Declan and his poor sleeping habits took their toll on me during the night.  I think he got up two or three times.  When the alarm went off, the crew rallied pretty quick.  My parents would have been up since four, so it was important to be downstairs at a respectable hour.  We had breakfast, took a group photo, and sent the girls on their way.  The unplanned rendezvous in Regina was the only time we actually had the whole cast together at one time.  After taking a picture for us, the desk attendant from Days Inn gave Brayden a Saskatchewan Rough Riders window flag.  This was very generous and unexpected.  I was impressed with the Canadians we had met to this point.  All (except for the border patrol who thought I was up to some funny business) have been very friendly.

Both the driving and flying crews together in Regina.  This was the only time of the trip that all eight of us were in the same place.  From left to right:  Liz, Carly, Brayden, my Dad, Uncle Norris, Beverly, Declan, and me.

 

The high pressure that kept the frontal system to our southwest yesterday shifted to the northeast allowing severe weather to creep up to Edmonton.  I decided to depart IFR northbound out of Regina to Saskatoon, and then turn westbound to Lloydminster for fuel and some weather decision making.  Having worked out the kinks with FBO differences the night before, our loading and departure was simple.  The thunderstorms were present out our left door, but our flight route easily cleared them by over 50-miles before turning west.  By giving the storms a wide berth, we enjoyed a smooth flight at 8,000 feet, complete with a tailwind of at least 15 knots.  The visual approach into Lloydminster was uneventful, and we parked at the fuel tank on the northeast side of the ramp.

Along the way to Lloydminster, we marveled at the vast distances between neighbors.  Uncle Norris questioned how many of the residents accomplished the simple things like grocery shopping, power, and schools.  Talking with two gentlemen working at Lloydminster’s Courtesy Air, the houses are on the North American power grid and buses cover the entire area, taking children to regional schools.  This doesn’t lessen how impressive the austere farming environment was along our route.

The fueling procedure is interesting at Lloydminster.  The FBO collocated with the fuel tank is not in charge of the pump.  You call a number on the pump to get the padlock combination.  Then, You pump the fuel and call that gentleman back to pay with a credit card.  I’m not sure if I didn’t just pump fuel and give some unrelated and completely random identity thief my credit information.  I wondered if everyone that fuels simply puts their number on the pump and receives the payment from the next guy. 

With the airplane fueled and everyone cycled through the restroom, we were ready to depart.  By flying into Lloydminster, we had gotten ahead of the front.  Flight service me for beautiful VFR weather the rest of the day with isolated areas of afternoon cloud buildup.  When I say that flight service briefed me, I mean that the briefer at 866-WX-BRIEF gave me the briefing.  I expected that each field had a nice FSS person that briefed you face to face or through a local phone number based off reading the Alaska Airmen’s Association “Logbook”.  This is no longer the case.  There are regional flight service stations that brief pilots and receive flight plans.  The appropriate number at every field I used was 866-WX-BRIEF.

We proceeded to Slave Lake on another short leg, assisted by a honking tailwind.  Skies were clear and the air was relatively smooth.  The approach into Slave Lake’s runway 10 is fairly picturesque with the runway right on the southeast corner of the lake.  Making left traffic put us out over the water with a beautiful view of the airport and town.  The number of mills east of town was noteworthy and deserved investigation by Uncle Norris.  We parked at Can-West on the north side and called for a taxi. 

I met a nice gentleman flying his 185 from Edmonton to Whitehorse to meet a friend. The only significance to meeting him was that it put our trip in a slightly different perspective. I was amazed that he didn't put years of planning and thought into his trip. Really, you didn't get all the literature and cover your walls with charts and images?! That is just crazy. This wasn't a once in a lifetime journey for him, it was just Wednesday. Huh. Interesting. I had lost perspective on how many people are just operating in the area either commercially or privately. It really helped me to relax a little. 

The FBO and cab driver both recommended Lou-Lou’s for Lunch, and it didn’t disappoint.  We were hungry enough that most anything would have been received well.   Now we are up to eight or nine meals in a row that Brayden has ordered a cheeseburger.  If mom finds out about this, I’ll be in a bit of trouble.  The cab driver also made deliveries to the mills east of town.  We queried him about these mills, which we had seen on our approach to the airport.  He described the lumber industry and the mills, detailing their importance to Slave Lake and its residence.  In particular, he described the difficulties faced by many workers when a new mill was built then closed shortly there after.  Several families had purchased homes in town and moved to Slave Lake only to have the mill close and lose their jobs.  Although the new, state of the art mill is supposed to reopen, the damage was done. 

Gordon (we think this is his name) returned from his delivery and gave us a ride back out to the airport.  While I checked weather and filed, Uncle Norris and Brayden explored the fire bombers on the northeast corner of the field.  In true Uncle Norris style, they walked right to the middle of the operation and found the most knowledgeable and personable person to tell them about it.  Uncle Norris’s curious and outgoing nature added a lens to our group’s view of the trip that really made everything perfect.  He wouldn’t allow anything to get in the way of enjoying and exploring every second of the experience.

The firebomber ramp was littered with CL-415s, an Aero Commander, a four-engine tanker, and several helicopters.  I was pretty ignorant of all the airplane types except the helicopters.  Except for the helicopters, I was ignorant of all the other types.  I’ve now educated myself on all the firebomber and retardant tankers through Liz’s work at Alaska Fire Service on Fort Wainwright.

Brayden with a beautiful Electra on the ramp at Slave Lake.

Brayden standing in front of a line of CL-415 Super Scoopers.  I didn't know what they were until I got to Alaska and explored the BLM ramp at Fort Wainwright.  The CL-415 is the more modern and turbine replacement to the CL-215.

We departed Slave Lake on a westbound course to Dawson Creek.  The group discussed whether to go to Dawson Creek or Fort Saint John for the night and decided on Dawson Creek.  The allure of getting a photo at the “mile 0” sign was too great to pass up.  I expected turbulence with the rising terrain, winds, and afternoon heating, but the ride was relatively smooth.  What I hadn’t taken into account was that the terrain was steadily rising to Dawson Creek instead of hilly.  I expected the winds to cause mechanical turbulence as they burbled over the hilly terrain, but without the hills, we only experienced a couple bumps from afternoon heating.

The approach was uneventful into Dawson Creek, although I was still struggling with what the CARS radio operator wanted me to report on the way into the airport.  In the U.S., uncontrolled airports have an advisory frequency that everyone in the area monitors.  You make calls when you are inbound and on each leg of the traffic pattern.  Most of the airports I used in Canada had a mandatory frequency (MF) with a local radio operator on the other end.  You must contact them prior to reaching five miles and at points in the traffic pattern.  I was confused, and thought I still had to make traffic calls.  The Dawson Creek controller gave me a quick class on how the system works. 

There was a large, turboprop, airliner taking up most of the ramp; several small airplanes in what looked like two overgrown grass rows with a sign that said “Little Airplane Parking”; and a huge manicured grass area abounded by temporary orange fencing.  A ramper for the airliner motioned me past the tail of the turbo prop.  I still didn’t know where to go.  It dawned on me that the Canadian Owners and Pilots Association (COPA) fly-in was during the coming weekend.  I turned north and taxied over a rougher spot onto the manicured grass parking area.  The boundary between the gravel taxiway and the grass parking area was rougher than I thought, and gave me a good jolt as the mains went through the lowest spot.  For a second, I was afraid that I would strike the prop.  That would have been a bad day.  Our aft CG, 6” mains, and the dip caused me to bump the tail tie-down into the dirt.  I’m glad that I had the yoke in my lap and a little power applied.

I’ve never been a fan of the term “complacent”.  It’s usually used in too broad a sense to be helpful.  I prefer to analyze exactly where or why I've become complacent to pinpoint what I can do to mitigate risk.  I had become too comfortable figuring out parking “on the fly”.  In this case, I was getting annoyed and impatient, and taxied somewhere I shouldn’t have.  I was feeling successful about the day’s flight before I was parked.  I’m glad I didn’t do any damage, save for a couple scratches around the tie-down ring, but this was a wakeup call that I needed to take my time and be deliberate all the way to the tied down.

After parking I walked around to find someone knowledgeable to steer me to the correct transient parking.  I found Mark operating a riding lawnmower near where I had just crossed from the gravel to grass.  He was attempting to mow the smoothest section in that area and mark where airplanes should cross.  Not surprisingly, I had crossed at the wrong spot.  He guided us to the overgrown area for transient parking and pointed out the fuel pump.  I hopped back in and taxied the now lighter airplane (all the passengers had gone in the terminal) across the correct spot and into the transient area.  Mark was even nice enough to mow a parking spot in the transient area for me.  It took a lot of power to taxi on the rain soaked grass.  Like Gastons a couple weeks ago, my difficulties taxiing on the grass taught me that I need more flotation from larger tires all the way around.

Parked in the fly-in's parking area at Dawson Creek.  The prop is intact after taxiing across a rough boundary between the gravel taxiway and this freshly mowed field east of the ramp.  After the difficulties I've had on grass, I'm gonna put on an Airglass fork, 8.00 all the way around, and Aero Twin main landing gear gravel deflectors.

The terminal was empty except for the folks in the restaurant.  We called the Days Inn for a room and called for a cab using an advertisement above the terminal payphone.  I had not done any research on Canadian towns, and thus went into every city/town/village with a curiosity as to why it was established and what its current function was.  From our observation, Dawson Creek had two main purposes, the largest of which was to host the many variations of laborer that based from the town to work oil and lumber jobs in the region.  The parking lot of the Days in was filled with work trucks of every sort.  Most were barely recognizable with many industry specific modifications and enough gravel dust to make vehicle color indistinguishable.  The town’s other function was to host the many travelers that, during this time of year, were making their way northwest along the highway.  The Walmart parking lot was full of campers with either U.S.or Ontario registrations.  My Dad described that the campers were only resting and not camping in the parking lot.  The difference being whether one’s awning was out.  Awning out equals camping, while no awning deployment means you are just resting.

Waiting for the cab at Dawson Creek.

I had forgotten all about the COPA fly-in that would start two days after we went through. I saw it posted on BCP a couple weeks before the trip.  If I joined, I might have won the prize for longest trip to get there. 

 

All the travelers "resting" fort he night before starting north on the Alaska Highway.

 We ate at an urban grill in a nearby hotel.  Without transportation, we were limited on choices.  I’m pretty sure Brayden is on nine or ten cheeseburgers now.   Judging by the crazy and trendy hairdos of the restaurant staff, it must get very windy in Dawson Creek.  I felt a little out of place in cargo shorts and a sweaty T-shirt.  No matter.  Highlights from the previous night’s Stanley Cup game were on and they had some Bud Light.

Tomorrow’s plan is to make the trip up to Fort Nelson, followed by Lunch in Watson Lake and Dinner in Whitehorse.  Reading the Alaska Airmen’s Logbook, the legs from Fort Nelson to Watson Lake and on to Whitehorse would be some of the most spectacular of the trip.  The four of us settled into our two full beds and crashed.  I typed about two lines of this summary before falling asleep with my finger on the “D” key.  Until tomorrow….