Trip To The Center Of The Island

I took a trip.

But, Mr. and Mrs. Gawpo, Sr. came to visit me the week prior to my flying up to the San Juans to return the favor. They drove from California to north of the southernmost portion of Victoria, Canada. Drove. In a car. Together. You do the math. My dear father is attracted to certain language. See below:







This was an inscription protesting the military action in Iraq. But overruled overruled Mr. Gawpo, Sr's attention. Nothing personal. Just business. The man is a magistrate. What should I expect?

Now, my trip...

Having departed at 3:15 Post Meridian, four minutes later I am looking back at the beautiful Yaquina Bay and Bridge. My target altitude is 9,500 feet. Because my heading is between 181 and 359 degrees (355 degrees for this flight), I must assume an altitude with an odd numbered thousand (like 5, 7, 9) plus five hundred feet. Anyone flying a heading between 001 and 179 degrees must assume an even thousand plus five hundred feet. This provides a safety margin of separation.



Nine minutes after departure and I am climbing through five thousand feet. Not quite enough for the mile high club, but nearly. The airspeed indicator shows that I am maintaining 100 mph to help engine cooling. The vertical speed indicator shows that I am taking it easy with a four hundred foot per minute rate of ascent. The heading indicator shows that I am flying slightly east of 360 degrees and that will have to be corrected by the time I complete my ascent. The artificial horizon indicates a slight nose-up attitude.



At 9,500 feet in under 20 minutes. Not bad.



224 miles to go; 1:22 minutes to get there; 160 mph (statute); and flying a heading of 355 degrees. S47 is the airport designation for Tillamook; KPFC is the designation for Pacific City. Just put the little airplane on the line and you will get there. Gotta love the GPS!



Roughly 45 minutes to Astoria, Oregon's northernmost airport. In the middle of that river--the mighty Columbia--lies the border between Oregon and Washington. Lewis and Clark were here.



In about an hour and fifteen minutes, I am already at Hood Canal. Just below me is the city of Shelton, WA. To the right is Olympia (it's the water).



Descending through 8,700. Speed is rewarded with the airframe's acquiescence to gravity.




To the left are the Olympics, a mini-8,000 foot wall to catch the great storms off the Pacific and render the locale in their shadow with the same weather you'd expect of Nevada, Eastern Oregon or Eastern Washington, all of which sport low annual rates of precipitation owing to the Cascades and the Sierras. But instead of the high desert in the rain shadow of these mountains, the Olympics run interference for a different clime: An archipelago of islands that turn the ocean into a series of connected lakes whose mirror-like surfaces can be traversed by vessels as small as a canoe. These are the San Juan Islands.

That snow up there represents billions of rain drops cheated of reaching the San Juans. Average annual precipitation ranges from 19 inches at the foot of the mountain range at Sequim (pronounced Skwim) to 27 inches at the northernmost island, Orcas.



To the left is Sequim and Dungeness Spit jutting out into Puget Sound. Off in the distance is none other than Vancouver Island and the city of Victoria. Oh Canada, Baby. Dungeness Spit is the world's longest spit into the ocean.



Destination reached! Friday Harbor. That's where you'll find OC and Quilldancer these days, you know. Because of my injured back--another story--I was not able to fly over and see them. I had to pick up the nephew and his girlfriend and beat feet over to our little island in paradise, Center Island. Little did I know on this Monday that I would be lying on the carpet, on my back, on ice packs for the next seven days.



Yes, he's a babe. And yes, he's legal. But he's taken......



.....by her.....



While Uncle Gawpo flew the airplane, Nephew snapped pics of Mr. Gawpo, Sr's boat headed back to the island with the rest of the family.



Is this not a poster-perfect advertisement? Only golf carts are used for transportation on this island. The only gas rigs are used sparingly by the caretakers to help move bigger loads for folks when they arrive with supplies. The guitar is mine, but the Nephew plays a mean "Classical Gas."



It looks like we are having chips and corn, but you'll note the bowl with the prawns that Mr. Gawpo, Sr caught. Not pictured are the remnants of the rack of lamb BBQ'ed with an amazing Sicilian basting sauce. Salad, of course, too. Pictured are the Nephew and his Grilfriend, Mrs. Gawpo, Sr., Niece (with her back to us) and her friend, Taryn, whom I addressed as "Ms. Paper." It didn't take her long to get the joke, either. Smart girl. Gawpo likes people who get his jokes.



Saw lots of this guy and his friends...



Washed of her Original Sin, the "surprise" niece enjoys some holding from her daddy. At only .75 years old, she had a great time on the island. Mr. Gawpo, Sr is adjusting his bluetooth.



View off the back deck...



This is the first one I'd seen since they were removed from the Endangered list. I took out my Bushnell Yardage Pro and ranged the bird at 27 yards...



Last photo of my stay. This is Mt. Baker pictured in the last gasp of sunlight for the day. This is looking northeast from the back deck...



This is what you see just after taking off to the north from Center Island. In a minute, my left wing will be on the east side of my route. I miss my family already...



Mt. Adams on the left. Mt. St. Helens on the right...



Home...



This is the video of the landing upon my return. My friend, Don had my car out of the hangar and was there to push the plane in since my back was still on the mend. Thank you, Donaldo!