by York

BackcountryPilot.Org

Alaska Floatplane Rating Course in Moose Pass

This turned out to be one of the best flying experiences I've ever had!

I learned more about energy management, mountain winds, reading wind on water and slow flight than I had in all my other flying. I HIGHLY recommend these guys if you are interested in getting a float rating or in sharpening your overall flying skills. The instructors all have upwards of 5000 hours on floats and the owner/instructor Vern Kingsford has over 4000 just in the cub we were flying. He has over 16000 hours total and has been flying floats in Alaska for 37 years.

Additionally, you will meet some really interesting folks also taking the course. On this trip we met a research pilot from NASA who flies the 747 with the Space Shuttle on it to ferry it back to FLA. Vern spends a good deal of his time in the off-season in Africa and loves sharing his travel stories. The ready room has pictures of former students among which are astronauts, airline captains, fighter jocks and professional bush pilots.

There is quite a bit of study involved; this is NOT a rating-gimme course. You will have to earn this. You have to complete a 100+ question study guide from which the oral exam will be taken. My girlfriend and I booked the 10 hour option and that felt about right for us. Shorter options are available depending on your experience. We completed the training in about 6 days. You will not have time to do many other activities so bookend a few days for sightseeing the Kenai peninsula while you are there. The scenery is absolutely stunning!

The location is particularly challenging as we had multiple lakes to work on, all in uncontrolled G airspace, so we were able to do rough water, normal water, glassy water takeoffs and landings in actual conditions... often on the same lake at the same time! Since we were right on the lake there was no transit time to the training areas. All of your flight time was spent doing real training.

Again, I cannot recommend these folks highly enough and we are headed back next year for more advanced training.

Check out the photos at Back Country Pilot .

 By Jon Rashleigh

Blythewood, SC - Instrument Rated Private Pilot – 350 hours

 As I was preparing for my trip to Moose Pass, Alaska, to learn how to fly float planes I told several of my flying friends in South Carolina about my upcoming adventure. They said I was crazy going all the way to Alaska to get my rating and that I should just go to Florida and get it done much cheaper and quicker. I am so glad I didn’t listen to their ‘advice’… I wanted the real deal.  AFR far exceeded my expectations for comprehensive learning in a true ‘bush flying’ environment. 

When I arrived in Moose Pass the weather was deteriorating with gusty winds and scattered rain and clouds prevailing. After a short classroom intro lesson from Vern Kingsford, owner of AFR, we spent time getting familiar with the PA-18 Super Cub we would be flying and started practicing maneuvers on the water. As soon as we had a break in the weather we got up in the air and starting learning the basics of reading the water and finding safe places to land.   By my third lesson I was at the controls of my dream machine, flying into a mountain valley for landing practice on Bench Lake.  

My first thoughts as we approached this postage stamp sized lake in a tight valley was that I was out of my league and I began questioning my judgment for signing up for this course. Thankfully, as in all maneuvers taught at AFR, my instructor demonstrated the technique three times and described each part of the approach, landing and takeoff. Once I gained confidence in the incredible performance of the Super Cub and in my ability to handle it, the maneuvers such as ‘confined space landings’ started to make sense. 

For the next five days we adapted to the weather, taking advantage of the ever-changing conditions to get exposed to several different lakes within a few minutes flying time from home base on Trail Lake. I was extremely impressed with the instructor’s knowledge and experience reading the canyon winds and showing me where to find lift, as well as how to avoid downdrafts. I had flown in the mountains of Montana and Idaho early in my flying career but my skills were rusty. Each lake and each landing provided different challenges that kept the learning curve very steep.

On day six it all came together and I passed my checkride. The challenging lessons had allowed me to become comfortable with the airplane and confident executing all the maneuvers. 

The amount of effort and energy put into this 9 hours of flying and several hours of course work and check ride preparation to earn my SES rating provided me with a true sense of accomplishment. Training with AFR has made me an all around safer pilot with a great respect for mountain flying on floats. 

I am already thinking about my next trip to Moose Pass. I will definitely be back! Thanks AFR!!

By Derek and Morag Jones

Flyer, March 2009, www.flyer.co.uk

(Printed with permission)

This year it was Mo’s turn to choose the holiday. Perhaps we might go flying, sailing, ride motorbikes or drive classic cars? Nope. “The International Wild Waterfowl Association is meeting for their 50th anniversary in Anchorage, and we’re going to visit wildlife places then get on a cruise ship down to Vancouver.”

“Er…right.”

A bit of Googling revealed the following: Alaska has six times the number of licensed pilots per head of population than anywhere else in the USA. Lake Hood at Anchorage has a higher number of floatplanes in one place than anywhere else in the world. Lake Hood airstrip, one of the two GA fields-Merrill Field is the other-has over 450 based light aircraft. Why so many? Well, apart from the road and rail links north to Fairbanks (about 300 miles) and south down the Kenai Peninsula to Whittier (the deepwater port) and to Seward and Homer, there are very few decent roads in this vast and wild territory, and certainly not in the winter. Amazingly, the state’s capital, Juneau, can only be reached by air or sea.

Following our last floatplane flying adventure around Vancouver (FLYER March 2007), we were keen to continue and possibly add some taildragger time.  However, trying to organize dual flying in floatplanes and taildraggers well ahead of our visit proved to be frustrating-with emails unanswered, call-backs that didn’t happen, or suggestions to call with a few days to go. Part of the problem seemed to e the short summer season: June to mid-September is crammed with a vast amount of tourist flightseeing, whale watching, glacier experiences etc. Two itinerant Brits seemed to come a bit low on the totem pole. (Actually, this saying, we later found out from a carver of totem poles, is based on a misunderstanding-the lowest effigy on the pole is the senior!)

Eventually we managed to make contact with a relatively new outfit, Land and Sea Aviation at Merrill Field who had a Champion 7ECCA taildragger and a Champion 7GCBC on floats.

As we let down into Anchorage in an Alaska Airlines 737, it was a completely blue day with visibility for ever and the vistas of snow-capped mountains stretched away on either side as far as the eye could see. Next morning the weather reverted to what apparently more the norm for this time of year: grey misty skies and intermittent rain.

At Land and Sea we were greeted by Mike Field with bad news. “The floatplane is u/s” Aargh! So it was down to flying the 7ECA. This one had the 118 hp Lycoming and the original wooden-sparred wings, although a set of metal-sparred wings were being built in the workshop.

Mo chose to use the time to polish her taildragger handling, and this demonstrated why Anchorage may not be the ideal area for training-aside from considerable local traffic, Merrill Field and Lake Hood are sandwiched between the International Airport to the south and Elmendorf USAF Base to the north. To practice involved wasting time going to a quieter area.

I elected to visit the Knik Glacier first (when in Rome). One thing Alaska has, as well as oil and minerals, is a lot of glaciers the larger ones are truly spectacular.  The material they pick up colours some of them-others are truly white with blue tinges when the sun is on them. So a right turn after take-off and we followed the east bank of the Knik Arm of the Cook Inlet with the Chugach Mountains to our starboard side, climbing laboriously to 1,500ft and then cruising at 75-80kt Mike confirmed that the engine was “a bit tired and due for replacement”.

Glaciers Galore
As we progressed up the valley, one feature of Alaskan aviation became apparent: the big differences in wind and weather experienced over relatively short distances. On take-off the wind had been negligible. Now the katabolic flow off the glacier progressively in increased until we were going nowhere fast and the turbulence was uncomfortable. We turned back and the wind spat us out of the valley. We crossed the Knik Arm to Goose Bay strip, with its gravel surface in a space carved among the trees.

Here I ran through the gamut of tailwheel techniques including wheelers and three-pointers from normal and glide approaches. The 7ECA has no flaps and the directional stability felt a bit loose, with a noticeable adverse yaw to keep the feet busy. The rudder was sufficiently powerful to make steep sideslips available if required to adjust the touchdown point. The elevators had plenty of power for the roundout and, annoyingly, I kept touching down slightly tailwheel first. This is in contrast to the parachute Cessna 185 that I sometimes fly, which is difficult to get tail-down when empty.

While in this area, we took the once-a-day northbound Alaska Railroad train to Denali-complete with the traditional cry of “Boooard” from the conductor. The train is of improbable length, making it a fair hike to the restaurant car. It also has double-deck observation cars, useful to see over the trees that border much of the line.

The Denali National Park and Preserve is just one of many in Alaska and not the biggest-though I count six-million acres as vast. It includes part of the Alaska Range and Mount McKinley. At 20,320ft that’s the tallest mountain in America, notorious for its extreme weather-I recommend Wager with the Wind by James Greiner, chronicling the life and hair-raising flying experiences of Don Sheldon on his rescue and other missions in this area.

Wildlife watching
In the park, we watched grizzly bears, moose, caribou, Dall sheep and wolves-mainly at long range, requiring good binoculars and long lenses. The exception was a rather grumpy looking moose and a wolf loping unconcernedly along the road. Truthfully you should go to the park just to experience the sheer grandeur and, if you are lucky, glimpses of Mount McKinley through the ever-present cloud.

For some floatplane time, Mike had recommended contacting Alaska Float Ratings at Moose Pass, down the Kenai Peninsula. I had not considered them as I thought Anchorage would have everything, and Moose Pass is two hour’s drive south, and required us to hire a car. However, not only is the operation a gem, and the local terrain with its surrounding mountains and wide variety of lakes and water conditions ideal for float training and refreshers, but within range there are ice fields, glaciers and the mountains of the Kenai Fjords National Park. And the scenery on the journey down was a real bonus.

The road followed the north bank of the Cook Inlet and the Turnagain Arm before turning south to Moose Pass. The towering mountains on each side of the arm funneled the wind and lowering clouds down over the water , creating a wild and rather forbidding grandeur. We saw beluga whales coming up the arm on the flood tide that is sometimes strong enough to create a six-foot bore of water. Between the road and the water all the spruce trees stand leafless and dead adding to the stark landscape.

Dump full-flap
Alaska Float Ratings is located at Upper Trail Lake, just off the highway at Moose Pass. The original Iditarod Trail was blazed through this valley in 1910-11 to take supplies to the goldfields and bring back the gold.

Vern and Laura Kingsford run Alaska Float Ratings and Scenic Mountain Air. They have three 150hp Piper Super Cub floatplanes, one with 2,100lb mauw and belly-pannier. The one I flew had leading-edge vortex generators, presumably to improve the already good Cub handling at the stall. There is also a 180hp Cessna 172 and a Cessna 206 available.

Accommodation is available on site.
Vern, like me, is approaching the Big 7-0. He has 18,000 hours with 7,500 of those on floats. And we share a love of flying and a wish to pass on our experience to others-when you ask Vern for a float refresher, he doesn’t mess about. I had one of the most concentrated periods of practice in the air and on the water that I have ever had.

No time is wasted as the area has everything you need for float-flying, either on the spot or cose to. Six local lakes range from big to small, with all the varieties of wind (or lack of it) and turbulence that you could possibly wish for. All this is with the experience of dealing with the mountain flying problems thrown in for free, plus stunning scenery.

Mo went off to play, coached by Darlene Kellog, who has more than 15,000 hours, while Vern and I got stuck into it. In quick succession we covered the lot, from normal take-offs and landings, glassy water techniques, rough water operations, glide approaches, lifting a float to get a heavily-loaded aircraft off glassy water and finally how to take off from a small lake: full power, up on the step, then at the critical moment, dump full-flap, pop off the water then gently bleed off the flap as you accelerate to climb speed.

Then we went back to the water for another of Vern’s challenging exercises in the misty conditions with rain on the windscreen. Take-off, then throttle back and, maintaining the step attitude, hold the height at two inches above the water by varying the power. I didn’t satisfy his exacting standards!

I got another verbal smack on the wrist for trying to control a nose-high attitude in the step taxi with stick rather than power. After step turns it was time to return from this trip. On the way back at low level, Vern suddenly took control, dipped the wing and there was a black bear ambling happily along the railroad track.

An approach over the trestle bridge and a bigger thump onto the water than I would have liked and that was the refresher. The Kenai Fjords National Park really does have it all from the flying point of view. Mountains, glaciers, ice fields, coastlines, lakes aplenty, and it’s all in Class G airspace. It would have been nice to take advantage of the flying safaris, which can be anything up to three weeks if you wish. But it was back to the tourist bit on the cruise ship, and a bit more flying…

We saw whales on an excursion from Juneau. During a jet boat trip from Skagway we watches bald eagles perched in the trees-I never actually saw them move, perhaps it is part of their job description to keep still for tourists’ cameras. And at Ketchikan we hit the road on Harley-Davidson motorbikes-and enjoyed a flight with Dave Rocke of Family Air in a Cessna 185 floatplane.

The less than ideal weather added to the interest as this was one of the 400-odd aircraft in Alaska fitted, at the FAA’s expense, with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B) equipment, in order to make for a realistic trial. This is an alternative to Mode S.

Briefly, ADS-B is a GPS-based system where the aircraft equipment establishes its position, track and altitude and transmits this to a remote ground station and thereafter by landline or satellite link to the ATC. Crucially this information is also received and displayed in the cockpit of other ADS-B equipped aircraft in the area. The result is that everybody participating knows where everybody else is in relation to them, without ATC chatter.

This was particularly well shown on our trip where there was low cloud and poor vis, but still plenty of conflicting traffic. Y contrast, it was much more difficult to sight a non ADS-B aircraft of which we were warned by traditional radar-bases air traffic information, with the inevitable built-in delay.

The cockpit display chosen by Dave was basic terrain information overlaid with a  pseudo HIS and graphical presentation of our and other aircrafts’ position and track. It must be said that this system is particularly relevant where terrain, distance or lack of radar cover make it a better bet. It does require the building of the remote receiving stations.

However, the FAA is extending its coverage to other areas of the USA, and it is being used in Australia and Sweden. In the future, it will be possible to uplink weather and Notams etc. I can see that the resistance to its adoption in Europe is influenced by the relatively good radar coverage for airways, and the need to build the dedicated ground receiving stations. Lower-level General Aviation off the airways, and particularly over remote areas, would be the prime beneficiaries. But I have a suspicion that in the en d ADS-B will become universal, after we have spent the money on Mode S. Opposing views, anyone?

Overall Alaska proved to be a fascinating place, highly organized for a tourist to do whatever his/her imagination and depth of pocket can dream up, although you’ll have gathered it was more difficult to organize interesting flying in the Anchorage area than we anticipated. Meanwhile, Alaska Float Ratings at Moose Pass definitely has my vote for an extended visit.

By James Craig

The Transponder, A Publication of the Alaska Airman's Association November-December 2004

    "Okay, Mister Pilot, there's a bear at your one o'clock," announced the voice over the intercom.

    "Vern, that ain't no bear. That's just a black rock."

    "Oh yeah? Well, your black rock just got up and walked away!"

    And sure enough, just under our right wing, a huge black bear lumbered up the hillside. It seemed close enough to reach up and swat our Piper Super Cub right out of the sky.

    You might consider this situation and this conversation unusual. Not the typical checkride conversation with a typical FAA-designated pilot examiner. Yes, that's right, this happened during a check ride. But then, nothing about this Alaska experience or this examiner will ever approach typical.

    This is Vern Kingsford, owner/operator of Alaska Float Ratings in Moose Pass, Alaska. Irascible, obstinate, indomitable...colorful is much too bland a word to describe this man. A perfectionist and demanding, but at the same time playful, Vern is quick with a joke and a wicked grin. With more bluster and more flying stories than ten men, images of Foghorn Leghorn come to mind. But Vern is no cartoon, and one night not long ago, he proved it to me.

    Moose Pass is a wide spot in the road in Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, 29 miles north of Seward. Vern's floatplane school sits on the south edge of Upper Trail Lake on an airflow crossroads of glacial valleys, mountain peaks and turquoise water lakes of all sizes and altitudes. On this particular late spring evening, the weather was crappy. With no local Weather Channel available, that description is about as technical as anyone gets.

    In fact, the weather had been inhospitable all day --- winds greater than 25 knots, gusting erratically to 35 and a ceiling of no more than 500 feet. Then at about 7:30 pm, it started to rain.

    Huddled inside the tiny classroom building 30 yards from the shore, five students and three flight instructors peered gloomily out the window from time to time despairing at the possibilities of flying at all that day. All of a sudden, Vern burst through the door with a big smile, pointed at me, and said, "Let's go flying."
    
    Gulp...I jumped to my feet, grabbed a floatation vest from the wall rack and followed Vern to the dock.

    "What do you think about these conditions, Vern?" I ventured, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. I glanced nervously at the low clouds skittering past the shoulders of nearby Lark Mountain.

    "Should be alright," he replied marching resolutely down the dock's rough wood planking and ducking under the wing of a Cessna 172 on Pee Kay floats. "hell, it just started to rain. That means the winds will be down and that mountaintop is about 4,000 feet above us, so we should have a couple thousand feet of ceiling. Let's give it a try."

    He was right about the wind, at least on the surface. Taxiing one of his three Piper Super Cubs out onto the gray water, we had no trouble maneuvering and taking off. Victor Kilo took to the sky under my direction, rising from a normal takeoff, holding a steady attitude toward the narrow valley just to our south. So far, so good.

    Rising two hundred feet, conditions changed abruptly. Just east of our departure point and about 400 feet higher lies Grant Lake. In nice weather it's a beautiful L-shaped body of deep blue water bordered by steep mountainsides. But in bad weather, it's a burbling witches' cauldron of nasty swirling winds. The valley walls form a perfect Venturi tube aimed right at the docks we had just left. Wave after wave of agitated mountain air rolled off Grant Lake and dumped over its western ridge directly on top of the little Cub.

    Hammered by the heavy wet winds, I fought back, valiantly lurching the stick left and right, just trying to keep the floats between me and the water and forest below.

    "Whoa, cowboy," came Vern's voice over the intercom. "let go of the stick for a minute and relax, will ya?"

    Reluctantly, I released my steely grip, and the ride, though still bumpy, settled considerably.

    "That's better," said Vern. "It's pretty gusty up here alright, but we really don't need to add in all that pilot-induced turbulence."

    Smiling sheepishly, I had to admire Vern's calm nature. I have flown through turbulence before, and I knew he was right. Cautiously, I made a turn to the north and once past the howling mouth of Grant Lake's Venturi, conditions improved considerably. At least, the hammering stopped.

    After 30 minutes of practice landings and takeoffs into tiny Johnson Lake, Vern announced, "Okay, let's go home." With great relief, I pointed the Cub south and left the narrow valley behind. Cruising a thousand feet above a lush green forest, I set up a descent to reach the 500 foot pattern altitude back to base. My hopes for more reasonable conditions vanished as we got close enough to see and analyze the water ahead.

    Over the past three days, Vern and his team had trained me well to determine wind direction and speed from the appearance of the water's surface. Our landing area ahead was a mess. Heavily dappled patterns on the lake indicated a repeating series of gusts, courtesy of Grant Lake. Lines of spray spewed from the whitecaps parallel to the wind, indicating winds higher than twenty knots, gusting to thirty. The one item in a floatplane pilot's favor is that in a large enough body of water, you can always land straight into the wind.

    Lining up into the gusts, I tried to stabilize the plane for the approach. I fought against the lump in my throat and stared at the spectacle ahead. Just then Vern cut in over the intercom again.

    "Okay, my airplane. Let me show you how to handle landing in gusts like these," he said. "We can see the gusts coming at us and we know each one will push us up. Then the bottom will drop out. So, we'll anticipate that with a little added power."

    Vern pulled the throttle back all the way and we headed down toward the wind ravaged lake surface. "Okay, here comes the first gust."

    Sure enough, a heavy push like an uppercut to the gut caught the Cub and shoved us skyward. Vern advanced the throttle just as we reached the top of the rise. Instead of the expected sickening drop, we powered forward and descended smoothly another 200 feet.

    "Here comes another," Vern announced cheerfully. From outside the plane, we probably looked like a pair of Comedy and Tragedy masks staring out the windows as we hurtled toward the lake...Vern grinning from ear to ear and me grimacing in anticipation of my imminent demise.

    The same sequence repeated twice more until we were twenty feet over the water. Adding a touch of power, Vern stabilized the Cub, held a nose slightly high attitude until the floats began to slice into the white-capped waves and finally settled gracefully onto the lake. Step taxiing toward the dock two hundred yards ahead, Vern chuckled, "And that's what you could call the roller coaster landing. It's not written down in any of our procedures, but maybe it ought to be."

    I was impressed. I'm an 800 hour Cessna 182 pilot and have handled gusty landings like that at home in Colorado, but floats change everything. By this time, I knew enough about seaplane flying to know that I had just witnessed the skills of a master.

    If you're like me, you've dreamed of this Alaska experience a million times. Surrounded by rugged wilderness, deep in the Chugach Mountains, you land your floatplane on a pristine blue lake at the bottom of a bowl of granite walls and forested banks. No roads connect to this spot, and the only trails nearby were formed by moose and bear. You nudge your plane up to a small gravel beach, hop out and after a quick look around, you unload your camping gear. Accompanied by only a lonely Arctic loon, you watch him drifting on the glassy surface, calling out forlornly to the evening sky. You sip hot coffee from a blue tin cup and feel yourself melting and merging into the wildness and strength of the environment around you.

    Every year, the spring edition of some airplane magazine bursts into my mundane, working world and shatters the winter rat race monotony with a cover photo of floatplanes on blue waters. Like a spring crocus surging through the snow, the dream awakens in me and rekindles the fantasy. This year I finally made the plunge.

    If you want to enter the world of float flying, I highly recommend Vern Kingsford's little school in Moose Pass, Alaska. Known both as Alaska Float Ratings and Scenic Mountain Air, Vern and the crew provide a well-organized, intensive course of instruction in the Alaskan landscape that will teach you to fly floats safely and fill your eyes with the wonders of the magnificent Kenai Peninsula, its abundant wildlife and challenging weather.

    I spent a week at the school in June 2003 and left a changed man. Not only did I have a Seaplane rating to add to my commercial ticket, I had a stack of photos and a collection of memories that I will never forget.

    Did the experience satisfy my annual craving? Only slightly. Now my dream is more alive than ever. Now I have glimpsed this world from the inside. I have tasted the life of the Alaskan floatplane pilot, and my respect and awe for its reality has grown immeasurably.

    Come, fly Alaska ...and may there always be a walking black rock at your one o'clock.

By Patrick Mathews

AOPA Magazine, September 2002 Volume 45 / Number 9 (printed with permission)

The scientists call it Pleistocene glaciation. That time in Earth's formation when giant advancing and retreating glaciers carved out steep, smooth valleys and when colliding tectonic plates pushed up rugged mountain ranges. In Alaska, these powerful forces created the extraordinary topography of Alaska's Kenai Peninsula. Mother Nature had also created one of Earth's most challenging and spectacular aviation environments.

It was the summer solstice, and I had come to this remarkable part of the world to experience authentic bush flying and to hopefully obtain my single-engine seaplane rating. Like many pilots, I had always been intrigued by the idea of adding the float rating to my certificate, not as much for its utility as for the pure experience. So, if this was to be for the experience then I wanted the real thing — to fly the way professional bush pilots do.

And I wanted real training, not just the rating.

After considerable research I discovered Vern Kingsford. He and his wife, Lura, operate Alaska Float Ratings in tiny Moose Pass, on the Kenai Peninsula.

Vern has earned a fine reputation. He's a stickler for safety. He does things right, insisting his students closely follow his well-honed syllabus. He's passionate about float flying. After 30 years of teaching and flying his Part 135 float operation, he is a master of the craft. Vern moved to Moose Pass 10 years ago when he realized that some pilots, like me, wanted experiences like the ones he now offers. The Kingsfords set up shop, as well as their cozy home, with Trail Lake right at their doorstep. As the only operator on the lake, Alaska Float Ratings has a unique location. It is surrounded by the Chugach National Forest that assures students of almost exclusive airspace. Here Class G covers the lofty snow-capped Kenai Mountains, arctic forests, glaciers, deep green valleys, swift-flowing rivers, and numerous lakes of all sizes, some in remote locations. All of this is accessible to students.

The weather is the real challenge here and it's what sets this course apart. It is in perpetual change. In three days of flying, I experienced firsthand all the vagaries of mountain conditions. Most private pilots will rarely encounter this intensity of weather. It included wind shear, mountain waves, opposing surface gusts, microbursts, and gusting crosswinds with quartering tailwinds, often in rain and frequently under low, broken ceilings. Proficient float pilots who operate here have an uncanny knowledge of mountain weather and have acquired the observation skills needed to "read the water." While floatplane flying in the wild allows the pilot the ultimate freedom and exhilaration of landing and departing from almost any body of water, it extracts a severe price if your judgment and weather knowledge is even slightly impaired. In my opinion, it is the most difficult and most testing aspect of float piloting.

Students fly in two meticulously maintained Piper PA-18s — the legendary Super Cub — adequately powered by Lycoming's reliable O-320 engine. Suspended below are EDO 2000 floats (2000 is the freshwater displacement per float, expressed in pounds). These are tandem, stick-controlled airplanes with the student sitting up front and one of three highly skilled float instructors nurturing every move from the rear seat.

If you have not flown a stick before, which I had not, it soon becomes second nature, enhancing both the ease and the romance of this flying experience.

Kingsford advertises his course as "the boot camp of float ratings." And being the colorful, outspoken character that he is, he is not understated in what he offers: "The float rating is just that, a rating. It's not an automatic add-on or a logbook endorsement. This rating can't be successfully achieved in one day. No student of mine leaves here without at least six to seven hours of flying and a minimum of two hours of ground school and several hours of self-study. And the checkride is a full checkout to the practical test standards for private pilots, and higher for a commercial student. Pilots also have to complete the oral portion, based on self-study, including weight and balance and the pertinent FARs. We're also dedicated to improving a pilot's judgment and confidence. Whatever kind of pilot you are, and regardless of what you fly, you are guaranteed to leave here a better and safer pilot."

The kind of pilot that Vern attracts could well have intimidated me upon my arrival. There were three airline captains from the majors, all Air Force Reserve F-16 fighter jocks; a farmer from South Dakota; and me, a city boy from Los Angeles. The highly informal and casual structure of the course and the common bond of pilots learning together made us all fast friends. Vern and his instructors are always involved, accessible, and open for additional assistance if needed.

Soon it will be time to fly. But first we have to get familiar with the aircraft moored to a floating dock in Vern's backyard. Then the preflight. How do those water rudders and floats work anyhow? Then instruction on getting the airplane started. How do we leave the dock? How do we taxi? Turn? What's the surface weather doing? Read the water and the winds. How do we run-up without brakes? Finally we're airborne. Slow flight. Power-on and -off stalls and steep turns. The learning curve is also steep now.

After flying my Bonanza this was really back to basics, a new kind of flying for me — a little stick and a lot of rudder with lots of trim needed to compensate for those big floats out front. This is difficult, I thought. Will I get through with only two more days to go?

The next lesson was important. It was to gain an understanding of "the step" angle and to consistently pitch for that angle for takeoff and fast taxi. Landings, too, would critically depend on this same step angle, but that was to come later. Floatplanes perform best in water, at speed, in the step position that is the precise angle that results from hydrodynamic and aerodynamic lifting. This permits the seaplane to rise up, allowing the floats to ride on top of the water rather than in it.

It's a great thrill as you gather speed on the water and the airplane's nose steeply rises higher and higher. Then, momentarily you relax back-pressure and return the aircraft to the step angle. "Hold it there. Let the airplane fly off the water!" came my orders from the backseat. The floatplane takes flight in a more profound way than a terra firma aircraft. Then the rotation and climbout  smooth, then suddenly quiet as you recognize a positive rate of climb, bring in the required flaps, and leave the lake silently behind.

Each flight was more exciting than the last, not just the learning but also the scenery and the extraordinary experience of being alone and having the freedom of access to the lakes, valleys, and mountains. Once while I was flying with Vern on an approach to a small aqua blue lake, fed on one side by an icy waterfall just feet away, he said, "Do you see that bald eagle watching that salmon stream down there at nine o'clock?" The big brown-and-white bird of prey was clearly visible just 400 feet below. "He's wanting to bring a fish to his mate in a big nest over there. Here, I'll show you." He steeply banked the airplane and thoughtfully flew downwind of a large arctic pine. Sure enough, below in a giant nest, mother eagle anxiously waited for her fresh salmon lunch to arrive by airfreight. This man surely knows these mountains, I reminded myself. On a later flight he pointed out a wide variety of birds and then a family of bears as they foraged for hemlock and wild cranberries high in a mountain clearing. Looking down at the altimeter I noticed we were at 2,500 feet with our wing just feet away from the mountainside.

I was learning a lot more than mountain flying.

But the serious side of flying continued as I was instructed in landing on normal, rough, and glassy water. Most people think that a smooth, mirror-like surface is a float pilot's dream. It's hazardous. Depth perception disappears and "finding water" becomes near impossible. The procedure is to use the shoreline trees as reference. Come in high with flaps extended and manipulate power to ease the aircraft onto the glassy surface as you rigorously maintain your nose-high, step attitude.

Back on the water there was more instruction, this time in docking and beaching, plow turns, and sailing. Sailing teaches the pilot to utilize the aircraft's control surfaces and weathervane tendencies, without power, to literally sail the aircraft backward into any given safe anchorage. It's an art form when performed well. Then we covered takeoffs and landings in confined spaces like picturesque Bench Lake. It is possible for a pilot to be able to get into a tight lake, but will conditions allow a takeoff? Making sound judgments and thinking through every contingency always come into play when flying here.

It's the last day and I have a final lesson in putting it all together. Chief pilot Duane Hallman gives me some invaluable insights.

Hallman is tough — he's done it all on floats — but is a kind and decent man. Will Boardman and Norm Kalat, the younger instructors, have been patient and most helpful too. They have forsaken the upward mobility of an airline career to fly by the seat of their pants, staying close to the face of nature. Somehow I envy their lifestyle.

The time for my checkride has come. I have a last review of the 120 study questions, part of which will form the basis of the oral. I'm nervous but ready to go. In the last few days I have learned quite a bit about myself. And I have earned a new respect for these men who fly every day in extraordinary mountain conditions. The go/no-go decision really counts around here. A pilot of only average skill will have a short life span on these unforgiving mountain lakes.

I passed my checkride. I'm a seaplane pilot now. Well, at least that's what it says on my ticket.

Patrick Mathews, AOPA 1134012, of Studio City, California, is a 1,200-hour private pilot. He is a freelance writer who owns and operates a 1993 Beechcraft Bonanza F33A.

Planning Your Trip -

When to go
The short summer dictates the flying season in the land of the midnight sun. Alaska Float Ratings (907/288-3646; www.alaskafloatratings.com) is open for business from May 15 through September 30. While the season is short, the flying days are long. Last lessons are often conducted, in good light, as late as 10 p.m. Slots fill fast so book early.

How to get there
Anchorage is the closest airport. Major carriers serving Anchorage include Alaska, American, America West, Delta, Northwest, and United. International carriers are Cathay Pacific, Japan Airlines, and Korean Airlines. On arrival, rent a car and drive the 97 spectacular miles along the scenic Seward Highway southwest to Moose Pass.

Where to stay
There is limited accommodation in Moose Pass. Alaska Float Ratings can help you get settled in the town's only motel or in one of the superb area bed-and-breakfasts. Everything is in walking distance. There are a couple of good local restaurants, but they are a drive away. Seward, just 29 miles south, is an easy and pleasant trip. It is a busy port town — home to one of Alaska's biggest fishing fleets and a summer gateway for the luxury cruise liners.

I took my patient wife, Debbie, along. However, be warned: If you bring a non-flying spouse, there's not much to do in little Moose Pass except walk, read, and take in the spectacular beauty of mountains and lakes.

Requirements
While many professional pilots come for the fun and challenge, low-time pilots are welcomed and encouraged. You are required to bring your pilot certificate, current medical certificate, and logbook. Headsets and most study materials are supplied.

Costs
While the Alaska float rating is not the least expensive, it is real value for money. Three separate courses are available. I took the three-day course. There is an extended course of four to five days and an adventure flying course of five to six days. For pilots already holding a float rating, a refresher course is offered. A $500 deposit is required at time of booking. All courses count as a flight review.

— PM

By Barbara Rowell

Plane and Pilot, January 1994 (printed with permission)

"Okay, Barbara, enough of that. We're heading for a tiny lake where you have no choice but to put it down on the spot.," Vern said sternly. 

I felt embarrassed-I had overshot my landing twice. I found it difficult to land short on a large body of water where there were so many choices. I was accustomed to being restricted to runways, targeting my wheels to touch down close to the numbers. Vern Kingsford sat behind me in his meticulously restored Super Cub, instructing me on my second floatplane lesson in two days. I was still overwhelmed by the added dimension of being able to touch down almost anywhere on water. 

"I don't really need a float rating," I told him when he first proposed it. "But I would like to get bush-flying experience in Alaska, especially short-field landings with real obstacles."  

"There's no place else in the world to get the kind of training you'd get flying on floats that compares to the course I give in my own backyard, Vern said emphatically. "Right where I live in Moose Pass, Alaska, is as spectacular a mountain setting as you'll find anywhere."  

He hadn't been exaggerating. Vern's home faces Trail Lake in a canyon where glaciers, mountains and lakes are stacked together in narrow sheer-walled valleys. As I taxied the Cub downwind on Trail Lake, Vern told me, "Go ahead and do a normal takeoff. 

"CARS," I said aloud, repeating the acronym that Vern had taught me: Carburetor heat off, Area clear, water Rudders up and Stick back. 

Vern said I'd owe him a Corona if I forgot to lift the water rudders up before takeoff. (Some students end up buying him a case of beer; I was determined not to buy him even one.) It was a friendly bet, but the tone in his voice was more serious when he said I'd owe him a new propeller if I damaged his. If the stick isn't pulled back, water spray is sucked up into the prop, damaging the blades.

"I'll let a student forget to pull the stick back once or twice. After that, I tell them if they can't do it right, they'll be paying $1,800 for a new propeller and can take the damaged one home. 

"We turned directly into the wind as I reached down and lifted the water rudder handle, which raises the rudders attached to the floats. I hooked the handle in its place on the sidewall next to my left leg. Simultaneously, I pulled the control stick back until it was firmly against the edge of my seat, holding it with my right hand as I moved the throttle forward with my left. This was back- ward to my own Cessna TU206 and made me feel like I was trying to pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time. By the time I'd done a few landings, I realized I wasn't just learning to fly floats but learning boating as well.

The nose lifted, I continued to hold the stick until it lifted still higher. I relaxed the backpressure until it dropped slightly and the plane had gone over the "hump" phase and lifted up onto the floats, much like a water skier does. 

"Tune for the step attitude," Vern said. I moved the stick forward a little more until the horizon looked like what I was just beginning to recognize as being on the "step" (or planing, as it's often called). With the throttle forward to develop full power, it was nearly ready to fly. I could feel the plane just caressing the wavelets. 

"Now lift one float off the water." I moved the stick to the left and lifted the right float. Then I neutralized the controls and within seconds the left float lifted itself. I was airborne at just over 40 mph. Once the drag created by contact with the water was gone, the little Cub accelerated to 60 mph. I raised the flaps, hugged the right shoreline and climbed over the trees, moving to the right in order to make a 180-degree turn.

When Vern said, "Begin your turn," I raised my left wing and looked across tree, covered, vertical canyon walls. I wasn't comfortable flying so close to the steeply rising terrain being tightly enclosed by the mountains was downright intimidating. I maintained 75 mph as I climbed through the turn, and Vern directed me to Johnson Lake, several miles away. Soon I saw something that looked like a pond. I hugged the steep, tree-clad mountain on the left and scouted my base turn. 

"It doesn't look like there's room to turn," I said when he asked me to begin making a right base. 

"Sure there is," he said calmly. "There's enough room to do figure eights. Let me demonstrate." Vern slowed the plane down to 65 mph with one notch of flaps and made several figure eights back and forth in the narrow canyon. As he flew nearer to the mountain than I was accustomed, I pressed hard up against the side of the Cub as if this would somehow keep us from getting so close to the trees. 

Vern had been right--there was plenty of room. "You probably wouldn't want to do this with your 206.  But you can see that at this speed we have plenty of room to turn around." 

As he came downwind and turned base, he said, "Let's pick a spot to land.   I'll demonstrate. How about abeam the sand bar 200 feet from the shore? Let's make that our spot where we want to be down."

When Vern turned onto final, he lowered the nose steeply. With the added drag of the floats, we maintained 65 mph as we skimmed the hillside that dropped sharply to the shoreline. I gasped as we appeared to be scooting through the bushes and trees, sure we were about to catch a wing on a spruce tree. After we crossed the shoreline with the floats just feet above the water, Vern flared ever so slightly and put us down exactly on the spot he had chosen. I began to laugh out loud. 

“What did you say?" Vern asked.

"That was incredible!" I exclaimed. 

"I'll demonstrate once again and then you'll do it," Vern said matter-of-factly.I began to laugh again. 

"What's so funny?" Vern asked, confused at my response. 

"You've got to be kidding," I said. "I can’t imagine being able to do that."

"Isn't that what you came here for?" 

He was right. I really did want to fly just like he did. Vern believed that I could, and that was all the encouragement I needed. 

Vern demonstrated the low approach and short-water landing over obstacles two more times, adding a slip to the last two landings. He picked a point out in front of us right on the shore where he intended to put the plane down and had me watch how the spot didn't move on the horizon when we were perfectly on target. To drive his point home, he pushed the nose down too much to show how the spot would rise in the horizon if we were going to undershoot it. Then he raised the nose to show how the spot would sink if we were going to overshoot our landing point. By the third time around I felt like I could do it.

I took off and flew the same pattern, this time with confidence that I had plenty of room to make a right-base turn directly toward the mountain wall on the other side. As I turned final, I lowered the nose and slipped the Cub steeply down over the bushes and trees to the shoreline, keeping my spot constant on the horizon. The floats contacted the water just beyond the shoreline, exactly where I wanted. I was speechless with excitement and repeated the process three more times before I said I'd had enough. I felt as if I had conquered the world. 

After I landed at Trail Lake and taxied to Vern's backyard where he keeps a Cessna 206 and 172 moored on floats, he headed back out with a group of hunters in his 172 while I went across the street to my motel to study. The following day we flew the opposite direction to Kenai Lake, which snakes around three bends with a shoreline more than 20 miles long. 

Vern asked me to fly two feet off the water, hold it there, then contact the water and raise back up and off. I did that for miles, a series of touch-and-goes to demonstrate pitch/power control. 

"What's important to learn from this lesson is the follow through when you contact the water. The increased drag on the floats dictates that you hold the stick back as the drag increases," Vern said. 

He also had me experiment with the pitch as he controlled the throttle and I controlled the elevators. Then we exchanged controls. When I was comfortable  with each of these exercises, we departed for Ptarmigan Lake to work on glassy-water landings. 

"How do you feel in here?" Vern asked as I flew alongside the mountain, looking down at a gorgeous turquoise lake. "Do you feel like there's enough room?"  

"Yes why do you ask?” 

"Because I've had airline pilots refuse to turn up this canyon," he answered. Then he went on to point out how much more comfortable I was in the mountains with just a few days of flying.  I hadn't realized it yet myself, but I was. 

Ptarmigan Lake reflected back like a mirror. I checked for floating logs and spotted a kayak moving swiftly on the opposite side, then flew close to the shoreline as Vern had demonstrated. The goal was to keep visual contact with the trees until dropping below the tree tops. At that moment, I maintained a constant power setting and airspeed until I felt the floats hit the water. The last few seconds felt very strange; I had absolutely no sense of my distance to the water and was surprised when I felt the thud of the floats. I made a few more takeoffs and landings until Vern said it was time to go back.

"I don't like glassy-water landings," Vern admitted openly. I was learning that Vern was a lot more like me than I first thought: He was open about what he considered to be dangerous and had no qualms about expressing fear. 

"The day you stop feeling afraid is the day I don't want to fly with you," he said.I loved Vern's philosophy and appreciated his honesty. I was impressed that an Alaskan bush pilot with 30 years of experience, who is also an FAA examiner, would feel comfortable telling me up front what scared him.

That evening, Vern and his wife, Lura, invited me to dinner. Lura runs Scenic Mountain Air from their cozy living room, and sometimes it sounds like the control center for Denver Stapleton when she's scheduling scenic flights for tourists over the Kenai Peninsula and Harding Ice field or charter flights for fishermen and hunters. 

Over a lovely dinner, Lura commented, "Vern told me that you did a great glassy-water landing for a beginning student.”

Vern cut in with a warning for my benefit: "After about the second day, students usually start to think they have it all figured out. That's when they start making mistakes." 

The next day Vern scheduled me for several lessons. We reviewed glassy-water, normal-water and rough-water takeoffs land landings. I practiced the high-speed step-turn which made me the most uncomfortable.  It felt like the plane might flip over, but just when I thought I should reduce power to maintain control, Vern showed me that increasing power was the correct procedure.

Each hour on the water at Moose Pass was used to its fullest without having to wait for tower clearances or other traffic.   We were completely alone in the sky in the most gorgeous setting imaginable. I had to wait on occasion when Vern flew a charter flight, but it gave me an opportunity to explore the quaint town.  For my final lesson, we flew to Kenai Lake again and made emergency power-off landings.  After a few of those, he shut the engine down and I sailed the plane with flaps. 

Vern arranged for Duane Hallman, a flight instructor from Anchorage, to come to Moose Pass and fly with me. I was nervous taking Vern's beloved Super Cub out for a spin without him along, but the recommendation flight was necessary in order to take the check ride. 

After a brief rest, Vern asked me if I was ready to go for my check ride. When the oral examination was over,   we pushed off the shoreline and I slowly taxied down the lake. Vern sat behind me, silent as a church mouse.  Now it was time for me to show him that I was completely capable of flying on floats without further instruction.  My heart pounded a little harder, but I found the check ride enjoyable as I put the little Super Cub through its paces. I had fallen in love with float-flying, flying in Alaska and Super Cubs.  I was reminded of how I felt nine years ago when I first started flying, a glee that words cannot communicate.

I didn't think I quite had it wired, but was beginning to think that someday I might like to own a Super Cub on floats. I loved the view out both sides of Vern's plane and couldn't help but enjoy its maneuverability.  

After I performed every, thing I'd been taught, Vern said,   "Take me back to Moose Pass."

Trail Lake was smooth as silk. I aimed for the shoreline and set up for a glassy-water landing. I dropped alongside the water trees and touched down with the power on when I heard Vern say, "If I didn't know better, I would've thought I'd made that landing myself." 

I beamed.

By David Wimer

Backcountrypilot.org

My Experience 

I am a low time (250 hrs.) private pilot. When I completed my private in 1997 I planned on taking the usual route of adding additional ratings/privileges. Instrument-Commercial-Multi, were all things I viewed as being on the horizon. I got started, as was many hours into my training. Then life struck. Change in employment, Change in marital status, a long distance move. These were all things that forced my flying onto the back-burner.

When the stars realigned and I had the time, opportunity, (and of course money) to get back “into” flying, several years had passed. A couple of false starts, and finally back to flying with something close to regularity happened in the fall of 2003. 

I still wanted to complete my instrument and commercial instruction, but I wasn’t ready to dive back into that quite yet. Being a big history buff, as well as a fan of anything nautical, I started looking at the seaplane rating as something “fun” to do, while exposing me to a different side of aviation, and hopefully “sharpening” my skills as a pilot. 

I began to research, and initially started looking at those locations closest to me here in the Los Angeles area. This meant most likely Lake Havasu/Colorado River, or a couple of locations farther north in California.  I made the decision that if I was going to learn to fly floats; I wanted to do it where float flying was a way of life, “the real deal” so to speak. That meant either Washington State, or Alaska.  I must admit I also had the “Walter Mitty” syndrome, and wanted to see what being a “Bush Pilot” was about. I chose Alaska. 

Research led me to Moose Pass Alaska, and “Alaska Float Ratings”, which is part of the Scenic Mountain Air operation.  Their website, as well as the ad I had cut out of the Pacific Flyer newspaper promised "real bush flying," "taught by real working bush pilots."

 I put down my deposit and anxiously waited all summer. I had booked the Labor Day Holiday week. I had chosen a package that included 10 hours of flight time, covering 4-5 days of training.   

So, there I was on Labor Day, at 0900 ready to go.  The drive in from Anchorage was beautiful, and I spotted several super cubs ready to go down at the docks.

Vern Kingsford, the owner, (and more importantly the DPE) started the training off by introducing us (class of four for the week) to the instructors. All are working pilots in Vern’s 135 operation. We would rotate instructors based upon availability and to give each student a different perspective. After some ground instruction, it was time to go fly.

The first flight was an overview, and introduction. It also was used as a familiarization with the Super Cub on floats. Slow Flight, steep turns, stalls, and basic handling were all gone over. At the end of the hour, we descended to follow the river back to Trail Lake. This was used to get the feel of the aircraft.  I knew this was going to be different than anything I had ever done before. All my experience has been in Cessna’s and Piper Warriors. I quickly learned what rudder pedals are actually used for, and what my feet should be doing!  With a river below us, trees looking uncomfortably close (for this L.A. area pilot!) and mountain wall’s towering up nearby it was definite excitement!

My meager abilities of writing do not do the scenery justice.  After landing we debriefed, and I prepared for my next lesson by studying up some of the handouts. This was the way each of the days went.  On each of the following day’s leading up to the check ride I flew at least twice a day, which left time for study, as well as sightseeing in the area.

This course really gets you "back to basics."  My previous training was conducted at a small college in Arizona.  It was great training, and they have a good program. But, just like many schools it is a “pipeline” style of school, teaching what it takes to fly in the ATC system, and preparing most of its students for “Airline” style jobs. Flying "by the numbers," so to speak. I thought I had learned to fly in the mountains.Boy was I wrong. Flying comfortably over some mountains, or around them (Southern Arizona) is sure not flying IN THEM!  Let alone landing on a tiny lake with gusty winds amongst them.

I then thought about the FBOs I had been renting from over the past two years, and the checkout’s and training I had been given. Many times procedures that are drilled into your mind are more for the FBOs benefit than your flying safety and skill in my opinion. 

How many times during a checkout were you cautioned against “jockeying the throttle” or to be “smooth and gentle” with the throttle. Flying floats teaches you to "use what you have."  I don’t mean abuse the aircraft, but not be “tentative” with the controls, especially the engine. 

After the first couple hours, and several firsts for me; such as, first float experience, first stick aircraft experience, first tandem seat experience, first bush flying experience; I concluded that my past training although “quality” had more or less just taught me to “operate an aircraft” instead of learning to truly "fly a plane." 

Learning to read the water, the winds, even the leaves on the trees was an eye opening experience for me. No ATC influence or attempt to make your decision for you. It’s all on you. 

Vern joked that you get a mountain flying course embedded into your float course for no extra charge. He was right about that. The location there at Moose Pass was perfect for this. My check ride proved this to me. 

When it came time for my check ride on Friday, conditions were dead calm at the Trail Lake base.  To get the proper conditions we had to fly to a couple of nearby lakes. Just a couple miles away conditions were ok, but gusts of nearly 30 were kicking around. I had my work cut out for me. While commuting to the lakes that Vern was going to use for that portion of my check-ride, he showed me some additional mountain flying techniques. As an LA area pilot, being told to go “closer to the mountain” for better conditions really made my eyes go wide.

This is what I signed up for. Not just the scenery, or the thought of “really flying in Alaska” (which was great), but trying to absorb some of the experience of people who do this for a living and in Vern’s case have many thousands of hours of experience.

To sum it all up, it was the best flying experience I have ever had.  It has really lit a fire to improve my “basic” skills that sometimes seem to go to the wayside.  I plan on adding a tail wheel endorsement as soon as possible. Oh, and even though Vern made me work for it, I did pass my check ride!

I recommend Alaska Float Ratings highly. I know there are many quality instructors out there, but in my mind they are top’s there in Moose Pass.