The highest point in the Lower 48 United States is Mt. Whitney, rising 14,505 feet above sea level. Conversely, the lowest point is Badwater Basin Death Valley, at 282 feet below sea level. Both of these geographically interesting points are located within California, are surprisingly close to each other, and are readily accessible by air. I should mention here that to make this trip to Mt. Whitney by an unpressurized aircraft, one needs to have O₂ onboard as well as an unshakable faith that their engine will continue running during their traverse along the highest peaks in the Sierras.
My goals for this day trip were to fly by Whitney and then down to Furnace Creek (L06) which would serve as a proxy for the nearby Badwater Basin. The Furnace Creek airport is itself, 210 feet below sea level. My secondary goal was to fly my RV-7A below sea level for no good reason other than the novelty of it. After scouting Furnace Creek we would continue south down the length of Death Valley, and then some, finally arriving at the Route 66 roadside attraction of Amboy CA.
I planned this outing as an easy day trip that would have us leaving mid-morning and returning in the late afternoon. And so it was that we departed around 10:00 AM for the leisurely flight down the quilted agricultural patchwork that is the Sacramento Valley. Multi-hued fields of green and tan on our right and the snow-capped Sierras to our left guided our journey southward. Soon we were abeam the famed Yosemite National Park. El Capitan and Half Dome are visible at center left:
We continued our southerly track passing the city of Fresno and thence reaching the town of Reedley (O32), we cast our common sense aside and headed directly into the heart of the Sierras. At the same time, I began a slow climb to about 15000'.
I'm immediately impressed by the jagged nature of the southern Sierras. Needless to say, this would not be the best time for an engine failure. Fortunately for us, our IOX370 purred along beautifully as I leaned and re-leaned the mixture down to about 6.7 gallons/hour. Our gentle climb kept us well above the peaks. This view is looking northeast:
As we approached Mt. Whitney (below, center right), the wind steadily increased and our crab angle into the crosswind was quite apparent. Our direction of travel was directly at Whitney, but notice the direction the plane is pointed. We ultimately experienced over 20 knots on our left as we leveled off ten miles or so before our flyby.
The mountains below gradually rise to meet us as we continued our approach. This gives us the uncomfortable impression that we were not high enough to clear the final ridgeline. Also, we were beginning to get into some mechanical turbulence caused by the wind blowing over the jagged peaks to the left of us.
The closer we got to Whitney, the worse the turbulence became. Although we were level at 15000', our altitude above the rocks was steadily diminishing as we approached the highest peaks. The turbulence had become worrisome to me, and I assume Carol as well, but she wasn't saying anything. Updrafts and downdrafts in excess of 1500 feet per minute were coming in rapid succession. I knew the autopilot was about to switch off, so I turned it off myself to avoid the surprise. I slowed the aircraft as much as I dared below Vₐ considering our altitude and my strong desire to maintain it. The aircraft responds slowly in this thin air, I thought, as I worked to maintain level flight.
Our direct path would have taken us over the valley between Mt. Russel (foreground below) and Mt. Whitney. Instead, I elected to fly the upwind side of Mt. Russel where rising air should keep us safely above the granite. I could still get a nice picture of the mountain only 1 mile distant. I really didn't want to deal with the turbulence in that narrow valley.
I put the camera down to concentrate on remaining upright as we skimmed over Mt. Russel and then Mt. Whitney. I did take a couple of quick looks out the right side as we made our closest approach to the mountain. I didn't see any climbers, but I could clearly make out the small stone storm shelter that stands on the summit. Now that we've been to, or at least in the near vicinity of the highest point in the conterminous U.S., it was time to begin our descent. I looked back for one last picture, capturing the eastern edge of the Sierras. Mt. Whitney is at the center-left and the town of Lone Pine is just off the lower right corner.
We were descending across the Owens Valley heading east, being careful not to descend too far lest we have to climb up again to clear the 5000' peaks in the Panamint range just ahead of us. Then, having avoided those peaks we continued our descent with the expanse of Death Valley laying before us. Below: The north end of the valley and sand dunes.
There were no other aircraft on the field or in the air near Furnace Creek. We entered left downwind for 33 and then proceeded to land on the very rough runway. I thought we were completely deserted in the desert until we came across this old guy parked just off of the ramp. We had to pass by his truck on the way to the restroom and I was afraid he might want to warn us about global warming or the patriarchy, or worse, lecture me on my privilege. To my great relief, he seemed to want to avoid us. As we approached he walked around to the opposite side of his truck.
Refreshed, I signed the guest book in the small terminal building and we headed back to the plane. Once again we passed the colorful pickup without incident and I took this picture of Carol on the empty ramp before we strapped in for our departure south.
I used a soft field technique in an attempt to minimize the pounding the plane would take from the rough runway as we departed Furnace Creek. Carol was ready with the camera as I circled back to make a low pass over the runway. And here is the "proof" that we flew below sea level -- our altimeter at -200 feet. You'll just have to trust me that it was set to the current barometric conditions.
The next stop would be Amboy California. But first, we had to traverse the length of Death Valley and skirt the east side of a whole lot of restricted airspace.
When we approached Amboy, I made a low pass over the gravel runway to check things out. The runway seemed doable, but there were some rough spots visible. I circled back to land into the wind opposite the low pass I just made.
Going in this direction, one avoids the power lines along the road and then drops in over the top of the gas station, being careful to miss the radio tower on the right.
We touched down normally and I held the nose wheel off as long as I could. Now that I can see the gravel up close I'm thinking this may not have been such a good idea, just as a 4" deep rut comes screaming into view diagonally across our path. We were still rolling along at a good clip, but far too slow to lift the nose -- let alone fly. There was very little time to brake or steer away from it. We hit it pretty hard but kept right on going straight ahead. Since we weren't upside down now, I'm (wishfully) thinking that we must have gotten away with it.
We continued our rollout until we slowed enough that we could turn around and taxi back toward the Amboy gas station/cafe. As we taxied back I could feel that the runway was softer in spots than I expected. When we got back to the "rut" I had just hit, I attempted to cross it in a much shallower spot which turned out to be soft sand. And that was as far as we got. We were stuck midway down the runway.
At this point, I'm still naively thinking that we'll just get someone to pull us out and... We both jump out and walk around to the front of the plane. Wait for it. Yes, it's a flat tire. The mains were stuck in the sand, the nose wheel is flat, and my front wheel pant is shredded. Other than that, everything is peachy.
It's never a good sign when the toolbox comes out, but on this day, I'm very thankful that I have one. What I don't seem to have is the spare nose wheel tube that I thought I had.¹ After a quick inspection though, I find no visible damage other than the wheel pant, and of course, the flat tire. I let Carol get a head start towards Amboy while I removed the damaged wheel pant.
We pass this empty hangar on the way.
When we get to the gas station/cafe the man behind the counter informs us that the nearest city from which we might expect help is Twentynine Palms and that it is nearly an hour away by automobile. Hmm. He then put me in touch with the "Mayor" of Amboy who just happens to live across the street in a 5th wheel parked behind the post office. The mayor, whose real name is Curt, turns out to be a retired firefighter and a heck of a nice guy.
I already knew that we hadn't damaged the front tire, but I couldn't be sure about the condition of the tube other than its demonstrated inability to hold air. I told Curt that I think I can fix the tire right here. So the mayor drives us out to the plane in his pickup and then holds down the tail while I remove the nose wheel. We then return to the gas station where I disassemble the wheel to remove the tube. There was a tub of water in the back room of the gas station/cafe that allowed me to confirm that the tube had only one small hole to let the air out. Yea!
As luck would have it, Curt knew an A and P mechanic who was in Twentynine Palms and he was planning to come out to Amboy later in the afternoon. A quick phone call was all that was necessary to enlist his help by picking up an innertube repair kit for us. Things were looking up and all we had to do now is wait. We sat outside at a picnic table under the gas station awning with our disassembled wheel in parts before us. The conversation came easily with Curt until he had to bow out to attend a wedding. Surprisingly, he didn't leave the table, he just took out his phone and witnessed the nuptials from where he was seated. This is life with COVID -- Zoom weddings. I took this pause in the action to snap a few photos of the iconic Route 66 stop.
In a short time, our innertube repair kit arrived and the hole was quickly patched. While we waited for the glue to dry we learned that our A and P had plans to renovate the hangar pictured earlier. We talked of planes and of life in the desert. It was all very enjoyable, but we were going to run out of daylight if we didn't get going soon. So the wheel was reassembled with the help of Curt supplying some baby powder to lube the tube, as it were. The gas station's compressor made quick work of our tiny tire and I was greatly relieved to see that the patch was successful.
Our new A and P friend drove us back out to our plane and I quickly reinstalled the nose wheel and packed up my tools. I lamented not having a file to dress the prop, but the A and P happened to have a file in his toolbox. A few quick strokes with the file and we were ready to go.
Now, which way to take off? Having seen the runway close up between us and the gas station/cafe a couple of times now, I was pretty sure that I didn't want to attempt our departure there with all the soft sand and ruts. Going the other way from where we were looked like a better bet and a light wind favored that direction. However, we would be taking off midway down the runway which I estimate was about 3000' in total. In our favor, the desert held no obstacles to clear. All that remained was to pull the plane out of the soft sand where it had been stuck all afternoon and turn it around on the runway. Then pull it back through the sand and the rut to an area of more firm gravel that lay just a little bit further down the runway. The A and P's truck did the pulling as I walked beside making sure all was well.
There was nothing left to do now except for the goodbyes and thank-yous. I was a little apprehensive about the short runway, but I knew that on asphalt we could be airborne in less than 500' and I was looking at 3 times that amount now. What I didn't know, was how long it would take to get going on this less-than-ideal surface. I did our normal runup and when we were ready, I held the brakes tightly and applied full power. When I released the brakes we did not lurch forward as we would have on a hard surface, but we began to slowly and steadily pick up speed. Soon, I was able to ease the nose wheel off. The runway was rough and we bounced along for a second or two not quite flying. When we were able to lift off a few feet I leveled in ground effect to accelerate normally. As we climbed out I circled the field once crossing over the runway we just left. I gave a wing wag to our A and P friend that was watching us depart.
Initially, we flew a north-westerly route circumnavigating the restricted airspace, R2501, to the west of Amboy. Then, once clear of that obstacle, we turned southwest for Big Bear City and fly straight into the setting sun. The detour to Big Bear was obligated by our need for fuel and by their notoriously low fuel prices.
It was surprisingly cold at 6700' after having just been in the desert only 30 minutes ago. I finished fueling in the chill air and deepening twilight, happy with myself that I just saved $15 on gas, blissfully not remembering for the moment that I had just shattered a nose wheel pant that will cost me 20 times as much to replace.
We departed Big Bear to the east towards lower terrain and then turned west-northwest to avoid having to cross the Sierras at night. As we pass Victorville we can see dozens of COVID parked airliners. In the dim light, we can just make out that they have been parked down the length of one of the two runways. Then, rounding the corner of restricted airspace at Edwards AFB, we turn northwest and are greeted with the spectacular sight of thousands of blinking red lights below. The massive wind farm at Tehachapi is very impressive during the daylight, and as it turns out, it's something to see at night as well.
The remainder of the flight home was uneventful as we bisected the Sacramento Valley from Bakersfield to Merced before turning further north for the final leg to Grass Valley. We battled a 30Kt headwind all the way home, but it was mostly smooth, if slow flying. The nighttime view of the shimmering illuminated cities dotting the valley was a merciful distraction from the punishing headwind. We landed back in Grass Valley at 8:30PM, about 4 hours later than the plan.
By the end of the day, we had seen 872 nautical miles of California. We flew by the highest peak in the lower 48 states and then we flew our little plane below sea level. We saw craggy alpine peaks up close and we flew the length of Death Valley. We walked through the sand, gravel, and tumbleweed of the Mojave desert while visiting an iconic Route 66 attraction. We also experienced a near catastrophe that in the end, cost us only a flat tire and some plastic. It's hard to believe that it all happened in just one day. In retrospect, and now in the comfort of my home office, I can say that I loved every minute of it. This kind of vivid life experience is the true magic of general aviation.
¹ The next day I found that I had fully recovered from my innertube blindness. While unloading the plane, I found the spare nosewheel innertube in the baggage compartment right where it was supposed to be. That my hurried search at Amboy failed to find it shall remain forever a mystery...
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