GravityHater
Well-known member
- Joined
- Aug 12, 2004
- Posts
- 1,168
Last night just after sunset the chief was taking us to a remote hunt camp strip in the mountains, in the Citation. And he was 'pretty sure' where it was so we cancelled, got below the clouds and started looking around the mountains for it. So there we are, yanking and banking around the hills and its getting darker, and we are way below the tops of the peaks as we get further into these narrower and narrower gorges some of which now have fog developing in the bottom. Khrist! I am getting pizzed! Finally he shouts 'there it is' and I see him looking at this puny hardpacked gravel runway cut into the smallest space between two ridgelines, and he wings us over, gear/flaps/speedbrakes all at once and we make a survivable 'arrival' on what looks like 2500' of something only a supercub was meant to use. Worst thing is, he says 'Huh, this ain't it!', and without stopping, we do a 180 at the end, no checklist - and he spools it up. I set the flaps as we roll and looking ahead see that the runway is uphill and the fog has covered the peaks all around, once we clear the 100' trees we are going to be in it and good god, how are we going to miss the rocks IF we get off this miserable strip and out of the trees overhead.