View from the Right Seat of an Otter

Each time I travel on business or pleasure, I seem to always try and find something to do for fun that involves airplanes. A 2007 trip to Seattle on business would have been the perfect time to tour Boeing's factory, but with just two days in town to play before an agency presentation on Monday, it looked like airplanes would be replaced by flying fish at Pike Place Public Market, shopping, eating and enjoying the Seattle area for the first time since my teens.

But all that changed instantly on Saturday afternoon. As I stood on the Marriott Residence Inn's balcony overlooking scenic Lake Union, a unmistakable sound began reverberating across the marinas below, past the zillion-dollar motoryachts before bouncing off the high-rise condos encircling the lake and arriving at my smiling face. What made me grin widely was the wonderful sound of a large radial engine pulling a beautiful yellow and white De Havilland Beaver seaplane off the lake. To me, it was like going to the symphony.

As I watched the Beaver lumber off across the lake, it dawned on me that I had never been in a seaplane. I remembered seeing a rack card down in the lobby offering seaplane sightseeing flights, and when Julie said I should make that my "recreation" for this trip, without hesitation, my Sunday plans were made. Or so I thought...

The seaplane airline - Kenmore Air - offers one of the finest views of Seattle, Victoria and the San Juans you can find. Their sightseeing flights fill up, so when I called, I told them I was a pilot and was eager to take my first seaplane ride and then post about the experience here. As if determined not to disappoint, Kenmore's Lake Union Supervisor, Brandon Freeman, found a way to accommodate me by slipping me into the right seat of their afternoon multi-stop run from their busy Lake Union Terminal to Friday Harbor on San Juan Island and then on to Deer Harbor and West Sound on Orcas Island. It was one of the most awesome trips I have made by air ever...a "media ridealong" I will never, ever forget.

The following story about this trip was the most viewed post ever on my blog, World of Flying. Here is part one of the story, including the photo gallery from this trip, which can be viewed here.

Lake Union departure, outbound

First, a little background on Kenmore Air, from their website:

"The airline was started in 1946 by Bob Munro, Reg Collins, and Jack Mines with one airplane flying from a single hangar at Seattle's Lake Washington. Today, Kenmore Air is among the best-known and most respected float plane operations in the world, flying an eclectic fleet made up of 25 piston Beavers, turbine Otters and Caravans, landing passengers on glaciers, lakes and harbors among the mist-shrouded fjords and islands of the U.S. and Canadian northwest."

I had my pre-conceived notions about flight in a seaplane, and all were proven incorrect. My pilot for the ridealong was Kenmore's Chuck Perry, a very capable seaplane stick who began flying floats 30 years ago in Ketchikan, Alaska. Pre-conceived notion #1 was obliterated when I assumed Perry would prefer to be called "Captain"...since a seaplane is really just a boat/plane hybrid. I thought that would be the respectful way to address the guy with the yoke in his hand, but he politely told me he just prefers Chuck. I determined quickly that "captains" drove tugboats, and Alaskans that fly off the water in planes equipped with floats are really just like the rest of us aviators.

Pre-conceived notion #2 came when Chuck lit up the 750-shp PT6 hanging on the Otter's nose. Blindfolded, Perry could have done this maneuver quickly, since it appeared he had done it about ten millions time before. Calmly, he brought up the power, pointed the nose to the middle of the lake where there were no sailboats, and sent the throttle to the forward stop. With just three souls and no luggage on board, Otter November Eight Seven Kilo Alpha was off the water in well under half the distance I expected, wiping out my expectation that seaplanes took forever to launch.

Seattle is the jewel of the Pacific Northwest, and is a very beautiful city from the air. The Lake Union departure takes you a little west of north out over Puget Sound, and everywhere you look, there is something really great to see. Level at 2,000, I watch Whidbey Island slip by under the right wing before we head out over the Straight of Juan de Fuca. We push on gracefully past tiny Smith Island, an ominous chunk of rock far out in the deep water that looks like it's been the worst nightmare of many mariners over the years. This is scenery like you cannot imagine, with small, tree-covered islands off on the horizon, encircling waterways split down the middle by the occasional wake of a container ship or ferry boat.

Soon, I see Chuck start pulling back power, and a look at the Garmin 430 tells me Friday Harbor - our first stop - is coming up on the left. Our winds are light and from about seven o'clock, so Chuck drives the Otter straight at the gut of Friday Harbor, trims for 80 knots, and floats in for what I thought to be a greaser arrival...is it even possible to grease landings on the ocean? But apparently Perry missed "one small wake" from a boat, and that tiny bump forced him to call it "the worst landing ever". Go figure...it was about five times smoother than I had expected, ripping a huge hole in pre-conceived notion #3 that seaplanes landing on water would be rough as hell. I think I got lucky though, because Perry said this was the nicest WX and the best flying day he'd seen in months.

We slowly taxi towards the Kenmore dock, and I notice it is deserted. Where is the "ramp" crew...where are the guys who will tie the plane down? As we get within a few feet of the dock, I remember thinking that we were coming in way too hot, but since all my pre-conceived notions about seaplanes have been wrong so far, I sat back and watched what turned out to be quite a show as Chuck performed a docking maneuver only a seaplane pilot with the legs of a twentysomething could pull off.

Here is the drill for parking a turbine Otter at a dock by yourself: Keep up enough speed through the water to allow authority to the water rudders. Lose that, Chuck warns, and the gigantic tail of the Otter will catch even a tiny amount of wind and weathervane the plane possibly out of control. As you near the dock on the left side, kick in lots of right rudder while pulling the prop to reverse pitch. This puts the plane into sort of a powerslide towards the dock, but wait...the fun is only just beginning.

At this point, Chuck pops open the left pilot's door and vanishes down the side of the plane in a graceful move that if all goes well, will end with his feet planted firmly on the dock. At this point - for about two seconds - the Otter is free of any control, gliding along the dock, pilotless. I soon find out what those long ropes hanging from the wings are for...they're what Chuck grabs as the Otter's wing moves over his head. Like he has done so many times before, he reins the Otter in, firmly tugging it back to the dock. A blur of his experienced hands wraps a tiedown rope to the float...and we have arrived.

I have completed my first-ever flight as right seat observer in a turbine Otter, and it was awesome. I expected a slow departure, a rough-and-tumble ride, and a rodeo landing. What I got was an immediate blast off, a perfectly smooth cruise, and a "10" landing and dock arrival that looked easier than it probably was to pull off. All at the hands of a guy who makes driving a turbine Otter look like nothing like work, for an airline who seems - at least on this trip - to do everything right.

In part two of this post, I will tell you what it's like to fly over the gorgeous San Juans, and what life is like for a busy seaplane pilot as he slips in and out of dock after dock picking up fares. I'll conclude with the flat-out incredible experience coming back into Seattle's Lake Union at sunset, and let you know how you too can fly the San Juans with Kenmore Air.

Visit the photo gallery for this trip here.

Leg 2: Friday Harbor to Deer Harbor, Orcas Island

After boarding three fares and their luggage, our pilot went through the obligatory safety briefing with about the same excitement that you get from the flight attendants on the big airlines. Doors, seat belts, escape hatch, earplugs, yada, yada, yada. From the looks on the passengers' faces, all they really wanted to hear was the sound of a PT6 spooling up for departure. But rules ARE rules, and Chuck made damn sure everyone aboard knew where the holes were in the fuselage in case we had to bail out fast. Oh, and don't be the idiot that pulls the red handle on your life vest inside the plane or the people stuck behind you will have to slap you silly.

As we were loading souls and Samsonites into Otter Eight Seven Kilo Alpha, the Friday Harbor to Seattle ferry boat slid by outbound. We will pass up this particular ferry boat an hour later as we return to Seattle in the Otter, proving that the De Havilland is a much more efficient island hopping machine then a boat loaded with cars and people.

The short flight over to Deer Harbor was a non-event, with Chuck gaining only enough altitude to keep from scaring the people in back. Landing in this scenic port was also without surprise, until we tried to taxi into the dock where two more fares were waiting. Since the Otter makes a nice wide swing to the right towards the dock, it helps the pilot to have a healthy amount of clear water to swing that spinning prop around in:

But as we s-l-o-w-l-y taxied in, a sailboat was attempting to sail somewhere, directly at our twelve o'clock. The trouble was that Chuck wasn't sure where they were going to aim their bow. Would they sail right into our path, or drift left? As the Otter crept closer, Chuck was verbally making up "plan B", which was to swing wide right of them, then hook it back left and then hard right to begin the docking dance. And that's the way it came down, too, a non-event that was handled very well by a guy who had obviously done this a few times before.

Interesting note: As we approached the sailboat, I asked who had the right of way, the plane or the boat. I expected there were some sort of complex set of maritime regulations, but Chuck simply said "no difference, if my floats are in the water...I'm a boat." So much for pre-conceived notion #5.

Visit the photo gallery for this trip here.

Leg 3: Deer Harbor to Westsound, Orcas Island

With a couple more fares strapped down in back, we gently taxi out of Deer Harbor on water as smooth as glass. As the dock slips farther away, Chuck brings up the power, drops the yoke into his lap to get the Otter up on the step, and in moments, the fish get smaller as we begin a shallow climb out. The reason we are not nose high and climbing like a homesick angel is that our next stop - Westsound - is just one tiny island away.

The short hop over to Westsound takes you over some of the most scenic islands imaginable. The sun was now beginning to hide behind the Olympics to the West, and reflections gleam off the calm waters below. We arrive without so much as a splash dead in the center of West Sound, and taxi in to pick up enough people to fill the Otter's seats. Again, Chuck drives the nose towards the dock, rips hard right, jumps out, and manages to catch the wing rope as it meanders by. I am now convinced that it could get pretty messy when a rookie tries to learn the intricate seaplane docking maneuver because to my untrained eye, there sure seems like there is lots to go wrong here. Maybe that is why the dock is lined with tires, hmmm?

Visit the photo gallery for this trip here.

Leg 4: Westsound, Orcas Island to Lake Union, Seattle

Now with all the seats full and the aft baggage hold full, Chuck and the Otter must work a bit harder to get on the step and in the air. With full power, our pilot yanks back on the yoke, but must hold it there maybe four seconds in order for the Otter to get up on the floats. Once the step is assured, Chuck moves the yoke forward, but wrestles with the Otter a bit coaxing both floats to leave the water simultaneously. He throws in full and HARD left aileron to correct whatever he was feeling wasn't right with the floats. I am amazed at how keen this pilot's seat-of-pants flying must be, and can only imagine the rodeo this max gross weight takeoff might be in choppy water and vicious winds.

We lumber off westbound, into a sunset that is truly a photographer's dream. As the last beams of a late winter sun bounce off the many inlets, sounds and bays at our twelve o'clock, I am making my Canon 10D digital SLR glow, snapping images so fast the flash card cries for mercy. In all, I will end up shooting almost 400 images on this 2.75 hour ridealong.

With the winds at 2,000' msl out of the east at maybe 25 knots, Chuck chooses to make the return trip to Lake Union at 500' instead. He tells me that Kenmore's pilots put safety first, and often times will not fly when the winds are too strong or to variable. I also get the feeling that it wasn't the case way up in Ketchikan where Chuck learned to fly floats. Up in Alaska, I am told with grin, they'll fly through just about anything.

We soon overtake the Friday Harbor ferry, plowing through the water towards Seattle. I am glad to be riding in the De Havilland this day, because the alternative, down there plodding along, seems far too slow. All along the route, the sunset just keeps getting more dramatic, and I keep stuffing more pixels into the 10D's memory. The Otter proves to be a smooth and stable photo platform, and the Gods were cooperating with a majestic show as the sun melted into the Olympics.

As we approach the Seattle metro area, Chuck points out "company traffic", a Beaver outbound passing right to left, high. Too cool. I get the impression the sky is thick with Kenmore Air seaplanes up in these parts. We sneak up on Seattle, and I pick out Lake Union, which looks small from 20 NM out and appears to be sandwiched right in the middle of town. Chuck pulls power and follows the I-5 freeway down to final, landing a little south of east. As we descend, I remember thinking the lake is really NOT getting any bigger.

At this point, I am shooting pictures a million a minute. Chuck scans the water for boats, and picks out a nice fat corridor between any floating traffic to set down the Otter. Without a splash, we arrive, the sun's last remaining rays teasing us as they reflect off the high-rises of downtown and the Space Needle. As we taxi to the "gate", we pass another outbound Kenmore Beaver, off to somewhere, making me think that DAMN, these guys are BUSY!

With my ridealong concluded, I thank Chuck for a job well done, and thank Brandon for hooking me up. It was a scenic ride I will never, ever forget, and one I recommend highly to anyone who ever gets into Seattle. If you love airplanes, you MUST book a scenic flight with Kenmore Air, you will not regret it. Or, if you want to leave a great amount of troubles behind and sneak off to the San Juans for a little R & R, flying there by seaplane with Kenmore is the way to go.