Winter Joys

I love to share the beauty of our mountains with area newcomers or visitors. Last week I savored a special treat - flight with a visitor from Germany who also happens to be a pilot. He wanted to take to the air every day, though weather frequently limited our access to the sky. The flight we most enjoyed was a round trip across snow-covered mountains to an airport 90 miles to the east of home base.

Weather reports were not encouraging the night before our trip, but morning brought clearing skies in the valley with low clouds encircling the surrounding peaks. Sunrise turned the mountains into strawberry ice cream sundaes slathered with clouds of whipped cream. I called my guest aviator to set a departure time, and made sure the little 4-seat airplane was ready to go.

Airplanes love cold weather flight. Dense dry air produces better engine combustion, stronger thrust from the propeller, and increased lift from the wings. Our ground roll on the runway was very short, and with only one sweeping turn above the airport, we headed east toward our destination. The purpose of the trip was to refresh my guest's cross country planning and flying skills, so he had prepared all the information required by FAA regulations. He held a chart on his lap, following on paper our chosen route across the mountains. He had marked his navigation checkpoints with a pencil: here was a fire lookout tower; there a lake of distinctive shape; in the distance, an old copper smelter's smokestack, dark against the snow. Some of the landmarks were hidden by clouds below us until we could look straight down through ragged openings to see the ground.

The winter sun was low in the southern sky, backlighting the clouds and edging them with silvery rainbows. Ice crystals suspended in the air became shimmering fairy dust, and in the high cirrus clouds, sun dogs bracketed the pale sun like two palace sentries clad in mother-of-pearl armor. We were close enough to the 11,000-foot high peaks to see snow cornices curling over sharp windblown ridges. Avalanche chutes were swept clean to bare rock where the snow could no longer cling to steep slopes. Animal tracks looked like quilt stitching across the smooth snow comforters covering small mountain lakes in their winter sleep. No signs of human activity marred the wilderness.

We didn't snap photographs though we had a camera, and seldom spoke to each other as the plane hummed along. The views were too beautiful for comment, and no one-dimensional picture could capture the essence of the mountains. Too soon we arrived at our destination, a small mining town tucked up against the Continental Divide, and descended for landing. We didn't linger there, but immediately lifted off to head west toward home. The open pit mines surrounding the town were a stark contrast to the untouched mountains we had just crossed. They made the memory of our flight all the more precious. I hope my new friend enjoys reliving his mountain flying experience for many years to come.

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