Last week I was flying with the family on board over to the North Coast. It was severe clear and smooth, with a hundred miles of visibility. We had climbed to about 8000 feet to clear the coast range mountains, and I was letting out some altitude, still about 25 miles out.

I stole a glance into the passenger cabin, noting that everyone, including my wife, was fast asleep. I brought my gaze back to the front and scanned the area for other aircraft.

I focused my attention on the engine gauges, all looked well. I checked the course, the descent rate, and the altitude. We were at 5500 feet, while the terrain below us was about 2000 feet.

I looked up again, out the front windshield, and saw about 20 targets right in front, closing fast. It was a flock of geese.

There wasn't much I could do. We were doing 170 mph and they were close enough to identify species, so I instinctively hunkered low in my seat.

I had read accounts of birds hitting windscreens and hitting pilots in the head, causing serious injuries and even incapacitating the pilot or the airplane. I quickly wondered what it might do to the propeller or leading edge of the wing if impacted.

Luckily for me the birds made their evasive maneuver just perfectly, and the flock literally opened a door for me to pass through. They all flashed by us in an instant, and once again the sky in front was clear.

I was surprised. The times when I have been worried about bird strikes have been at much lower altitudes. My home airport is adjacent to a wildlife refuge filled with hundreds of thousands of ducks and geese. I expected my first bird strike would be on a rainy approach into home base, not way up in the clear sky out near the coast.

After my heart returned to it's normal pattern, I shot a look back to the passenger cabin. All still sleeping.

I have started a new blog, which is focused on fatherhood. Find it at here.

I made a little movie of our trip to San Diego to take Carter and his belongings to start College. The footage isn't great, but I'm getting better. We flew over the San Gabriel mountains as we crossed into the the LA Basin and spotted the big fire everyone has been talking about. In the movie, if you look closely at the scene showing a parched southern California mountainside, you can see the smoke on the right side of the screen. At the beginning of the movie you can see the green rice fields which dominate the landscape in our part of the Golden State.

Carter is off to a great start in the dorms. His roommate, Brandon, seems easy going and hardworking, just like Carter. We had fun spending the day getting him squared away in his new digs, and we attended the SDSU convocation ceremony. I think he will be just fine. Of the 62 kids in his "House" or dorm section, 42 are girls. Yikes.

I flew a client from Mt. Shasta to Salinas late yesterday afternoon. As we cruised along at about 6000 feet, the ground below was getting more and more obscured by hazy mist. The cold, moist air was pooling in the low spots, and once that temperature hits the dew point, fog begins to form.

I spent as little time as possible on the ground in Salinas before departing solo for home. It was now dark as I climbed up over the Santa Cruz mountains, with an amazing view to the north of the Silicon Valley, the San Francisco Bay and beyond. A fog had blanketed the entire region, and as I climbed, the fog became illuminated from the city lights below. Underneath the starry, moonless sky, the shape of the bay was painted black on a glowing canvas, as all the bay area cities defined it's border.

The big jets were lined up for a hundred miles on the approach into SFO, and the controller kept me below their flight path until I was clear. They were lined up so perfectly it was like looking down a row of streetlights.

I was a little concerned that fog may be forming over my landing spot at Willows, but knew that Red Bluff or Chico would be available. As it was, I landed safely with time to spare, but woke up the next morning to a thick blanket of grey.

Daisy continues to make progress, and I continue to miss her and Sara. If progress continues, maybe one more week and they'll come home. Now that would be a Christmas present.

Today I am blogging from Porterville, California. One of my best clients is in the olive business and has interests in both the Sacramento Valley and down south in the San Joaquin Valley. He sat up front with me today for the two hour flight, and when his meeting is finished, I am slated to drop him off near Mt. Shasta where he will spend the weekend golfing.

Corey Amaro, who writes a very popular and beautiful blog called Tongue in Cheek (www.willows95988.typepad.com) came over last night to see Daisy. We have asked her to be Daisy’s godmother and she has graciously accepted. Her brother Mathew, my oldest and best friend, will be her godfather. Corey and her son Sasha, Corey’s Mother Dolores, and Mathew and his wife Shelly and their three kids all enjoyed a hot evening by the pool. Sara made vegetarian quiche with eggs from our chickens and tomatoes from our garden. Dolores and Corey both held Daisy and at times I was concerned there might be a tug-of-war!

Looks like we will be heading back out to Shelter Cove this weekend to escape the heat!

Temporary Flight Restrictions or TFRs are, as the name implies, a special restriction placed on civil aircraft in a certain area for a certain timeframe. Lately there have been tons of these issued for the many wild land fires we have had here in Northern California. Sometimes you absolutely cannot fly in these areas, or sometimes you just need to be cleared by air traffic control. The fire TFRs of late have not been a problem for me, since they are generally in the mountains and off the beaten path in areas I seldom need to pass through. But today there has been a TFR that is getting in everybody’s way, including mine.
President George W. Bush is landing today, first in Redding, then at Travis Air Force Base and then at Napa. A TFR, including a 10-mile radius “no fly zone” has been issued at all three locations. Today I had a client with a meeting in Davis, which fell within the TFR around Travis Air Force Base. I let the client know that POTUS was to be in the neighborhood and that to avoid delays it would be smart to be up and out of here before 3:00 pm. He wasn’t happy about it, but understood and we headed for our next stop in Colusa at 2:30. His last stop was in Stockton, which would have taken us through the TFR again. I filed a flight plan in hopes of getting clearance through the TFR. I was cleared to pass through the outer edge of the TFR and beleive it or not, I heard the air traffic controller talking to Air Force One as it they departed the area.
It is nice to fly out here on the west coast, because no-fly zones are rare. Stumbling into one in a small plane could quickly end up with a fighter jet escort and the loss of a pilot certificate or even jail time. Hopefully that hasn’t happened to any of my pilot comrades today.

We got up extra early that morning to beat the heat and get a head start up John Brown Canyon. Luckily, the canyon was oriented so that the sun did not penetrate until mid-morning, so shade was the rule as we climbed. The canyon reminded me of the old Roadrunner cartoons, with impossible rock outcroppings and precipices. I tried to occupy my mind with the scenery, since the climb was quite steep with no breaks. Once cresting the canyon, we could see, more closely than before, the La Salle Mountains and cooler, greener country. Even after "getting on top" the trend was up up up all day long. When we finally made it to the La Salle Hut, we were a bit disappointed to find it was out in the hot sun with no shade nearby. We had read about some riders continuing on to Moab without staying at this hut, and we were beginning to see just why. After some deliberation, we decided to stay, and thankfully clouds had formed over the mountain making us much more comfortable. We took a walk out to an overlook where we could see Castle Valley and the Colorado River below.

Our final day on the trail should have been all downhill, but it wasn't. After about 2000 feet of elevation loss on a paved road, we climbed 2000 feet back up to Porcupine Ridge, and then followed Sand Flats Road towards Moab. We looked for a way to join the Porcupine Rim Trail on top. We ran into a guy and gal who were essentially lost. They weren't much help and actually gave us a bum steer, so we ended up, after a brisk road descent, having to climb back up the trail for four grueling miles. By now it was hot and my neck and shoulder were acting up pretty badly, so I split with the guys and took the easy way down to Moab. Jim and Joey arrived an hour later, dusty, hot and dehydrated.

But we made it! We toasted the trip at Eddie McStiff's Restaurant that evening before hitting the sack for a 5:30 am departure. The next morning we made it out to Moab Airport to fuel up and load up. There was a film crew there getting ready to film something for a TV program, but they were pretty hush hush about it. We were slow to get off the ground with all that fuel and cargo, but we climbed up to 10,500 to buck the headwinds home. At 10,500 feet, we were not high enough to clear all the mountain ranges we would encounter, but with the headwinds, I wasn't inclined to go any higher. We played some "dodge" with the biggest peaks, which made at least one of my collegues a bit nervous. As we crested the Sierra Nevada, looking west at the Sacramento Valley, the world ended in a sea of brown. We could see smoke rising from several places along the foothills, and it was not a pretty sight. The visibility was about a mile as we made our approach to home.

The morning after the state was ignited by dry lightning my compatriots and I loaded our high tech mountain bikes and gear into the plane and flew out across Nevada in the pre-dawn light. I could see numerous small fires as we crossed the Sierra Nevada foothills, realizing it was a good week to be clearing out of Northern California. We had nice tailwinds and clear skies all the way to Moab, Utah. We descended out of 12,000 feet over Canyonlands National Park, where we could see the confluence of the Colorado and Green Rivers cutting through the red rock desert.

Once in Moab, we celebrated our arrival with a cold beer and a swim in a local creek. Early the next morning, before it got too hot, we rode our bikes out to the Slickrock Bike Trail for a most amazing cycling experience. My friend Joey described it as a "mountain bike freeway" and a "roller coaster ride." That afternoon we caught a bus to Telluride, Colorado, where we enjoyed a fine steak dinner before setting out on the dusty trail. Telluride is a breathtaking place; a ritzy old mining town nesled in a deep, deep valley, with 13,000 foot peaks on three sides. If and when I ever get back into winter sports, this is the place I want to visit.

The next morning we loaded down our mountain bikes with gear and food, then set out climbing on the 17 mile dirt road to Last Dollar Pass. This is the same route that Butch and Sundance took after robbing the bank in Telluride. The top of the pass is 11,200 feet, and it was here that we found our first night's accommodations, a small cabin, or "hut", that had food, water and bunks for us to sleep. The view of the San Juan Mountains was phenomenal, and the passing thunderstorms kept us in our rain gear.

The second day's ride, after a pancake breakfast, took us back down the other side of the mountains, into a valley shadowed by snowy peaks and filled with wild flowers and cattle ranches. After crossing the valley, we climbed up to the top of the Uncompagre Plateau. (I think the spelling is correct, but not sure) This amazing feature, although dwarfed by many of the surrounding mountains, is a flat area roughly 25 miles by 100 miles, covered with aspen and spruce forest. Riding through this forested area, you tend to forget that you are breathing thin air at 10,000 feet. At about 30 miles, we reached our second hut, nestled in the woods on the plateau. The riding had been a mixture of dirt and gravel roads.

The entire third day was spent on top of the plateau, following a wide gravel road through national forest land. It was not exciting riding, except for a diversion to a single track trail for about 7 miles. This was our first taste of technical terrain while sporting 20 plus extra pounds on the rear of the bicycle. The extra weight in the rear made downhill braking better, but the front end tended to float in corners, and overall the bike was less stable. We got the hang of it, though, and had lots of fun jumping over fallen aspen logs and roots, powering through snow patches, and mucking into small creeks and mud bogs.

By the fourth day we had made a system out of getting up, getting coffee and breakfast going, packing our lunches and cleaning up the hut. This day we broke out of the trees and rode the edge of the plateau with a view of Southeastern Utah's La Salle Range to our west. We knew that we would be crossing this range of 12,000 foot peaks in order to get back to Moab, but that was still a couple days ride ahead. The riding was scenic but not challenging, and after our customary 35 miles or so, we rode into a horse ranch which not only housed our hut, but a hot shower room fed by a spring and a propane tank. We washed off 4 days of sweat and grime with great pleasure. There was a small ranch house on the property, and we saw a young couple drive in in a jeep. The couple were friends of the land owner, and they were celebrating their first anniversary together. We shared a campfire with them, and Cody, the husband told us of his job as a professional horse trainer. He was humble and soft spoken and came across as the "real deal".

The fifth day finally brought us off the Uncompagre Plateau. We dropped off a shelf down a fairly difficult single track trail which followed a creek down a canyon. We ran into quite a few off roaders (jeeps, ATVs, motorcycles) in this area. The number of jeep trails and routes were staggering. Finally we just completely ran out of plateau, and we were greeted by a sheer drop off down to the Dolores River, which quickly dropped from about 7000 feet to about 4500 feet. The dirt road we followed clung to the edge of the canyon until hitting the dry, sandy wash at the bottom. For the last few miles it was steep and sandy, so deep you had to get all your weight to the rear of the bike to stay upright. At the bottom of the canyon, on the river, was the small town of Gateway, Colorado. Our dusty hut was alongside the Dolores River. The temperature was near one hundred and the deer flies were biting. This was the most miserable night of the trip, but we needed to get rested for the next morning's 4000 foot climb into the La Salle Range.

I spent 14 hours in the pilot's seat over three days. After that my back was in a knot. I don't know how the long haul truck drivers do it.

Last week I did a run to Fresno and had the day to kill while there. My Iphone has been giving me trouble and I learned that Fresno had an Apple Store, so I set out on my folding bike to find the mall. Along the way I got a good look at downtown Fresno. What a sad state of affairs. It looked as if there had been a heyday perhaps in the 30s and 40s, but today there are these impressive old buildings and wide streets with no people around to occupy them. I was, however, impressed by the hospital I saw near the downtown. The mall was impressive as well compared to anything in the North State.

I also made two round trips to San Diego area, one to pick up my sister's family to bring them to Chico for my parent's 50th anniversary party. We had a great time at Canyon Oaks while parts of Paradise burned. I will blog a bit more about my parents later.

On Sunday I will fly out to Moab, Utah for a mountain biking expedition in the San Juan Mountains. I will blog about that upon my return.

The family and I were out on the coast last week. I invited a friend of mine and his family to fly out for an afternoon and have lunch (He is a fellow pilot and owns a Cirrus SR20). The weather on the coast was beautiful so I figured it wouldn't be a problem. Later that afternoon, he called to tell me they had tried to fly out but had been forced to turn back because of the thunder heads over the mountains. He said he had climbed to 13,000 feet and the clouds were building faster than he was climbing. This condition lasted for several days over the mountains, so when we loaded up to go back to the valley the next afternoon, I was unsure of what we would find over the high country. Once at altitude and heading east, sure enough there they were. A line of tall cumulus clouds were right in our path. The clouds looked quite a bit lower to the south down towards Clear Lake, so I altered my course and started climbing. With my wife in her "condition" (she is 8 months pregnant), I wanted to stay as low as possible to avoid any negative effects of reduced air pressure. As it was, I climbed as high as 12,000 feet to get over the top. She was not amused as her tummy swelled. Once over the top I descended down to a more comfortable altitude and we were glad to be almost home.

Yesterday I flew from the mountains to the sea and back again. I was up over Lake Almanor when I heard a fellow pilot over the radio. She was describing the location of a fire in the forest east of Lake Oroville to the air traffic controller. He said he would send the information down the line. As I crossed the area a few minutes later, I could see the smoke plume rising from the green forest. This morning, there it was, on the front page of the ER. Pilots of small planes are often the first to see and report fires.