76 AUGUST 2018 ÇPlane&Pilot
T
he irst glimpse you get of Hawaii on the long ferry leg
from California is usually the twin peaks of Mauna Kea
and Mauna Loa on the Big Island, punching through
the clouds some 2,000 miles from the mainland.
he Big Island is the farthest east of the Hawaiian chain,
and it deinitely deserves its capitol B. It comprises 80 per-
cent of the land in Hawaii, and its two monster mountains,
both nearly 14,000 feet tall, are the tallest in the world
when measured from their shared lava
base, nearly 19,000 feet below the surface
of the Paciic. he island’s twin dormant
volcanoes stand like round-top sentinels
guarding America’s 50th state.
If you’ve been sitting in a single-
engine, piston airplane for 14 hours, des-
tination Honolulu, the very sight of those
rounded peaks makes your butt hurt just
a little less. he capitol of Paradise is less
than two hours away.
In this case, it’s the dawn of the 21st
century, and I’ve been plugging along
in a new 2000 model, Cessna Turbo Stationair, bound for
Australia four days from now. he reliable Trade winds
began rotating clockwise toward the tail four hours ago,
and I’ve been gaining on 170 knots ever since.
he new T206 is running well. All systems are function-
ing perfectly, and all engine indications are in the green.
Cessna’s Stationair is a talented, comfortable machine,
with Swiss Army Knife versatility and plenty of room for
me, my raft and vests, Jepp plates, survival suit, food, water
and an HF radio and a satellite phone on the right seat.
(Much of the time on the high road to Australia, the long
legs demand a right seat tank, so we often must pull the
copilot’s bucket and ship it or ind a place to tuck it in back.)
he Stationair isn’t terribly fast, but that’s less importantthan what it can haul and where it can go. he T206 is,
after all, a utility machine with modest of-runway talents.
It’s also a stable platform, capable and comfortable on a
15-hour light, where comfort scores more points than
an extra 10-20 knots.
I’ve gradually drifted up to 14,000 feet where the Trades
provide a welcome push for little airplanes lying above big
water. At this altitude, I hardly ever see any traic, except
for the contrail of an occasional airliner lying high above.
Back in the bad ole’ days before GPS, contrails could
came in handy. Hawaii’s plethora of AM broadcast stations
made it practically impossible to miss the islands if you
had an ADF aboard, but beyond Hawaii, contrails used
to help us navigate the long ocean legs.
Aircraft without the beneit of VLF Omega or inertial
navigation were relegated to inding the next islands by
point and shoot, better known as dead reckoning. We
always had a rough idea where we were on the chart, but
if we needed to check the winds or our current position
and spotted a contrail above, we’d tune in 121.50, and
ask, “Airliner at about 16.40N, 170.50W, come back if you
read me.”
If anyone responded, we’d suggest a change to 123.45,
then say something like, “We’re out of Honolulu for Majuro
in a Cessna Stationair and were wondering if you could
verify our position for us.” he airline pilots were usually
bored to tears, and they were nearly always happy to help.
To make sure we were looking at the proper airliner,
we’d ask, “We may be looking at your contrail. Could you
make a gentle S-turn so we know we’re talking to the
correct airplane and then give us your inertial position.”
If the contrail above made a slight ziggy
in the sky, we knew he was roughly where
we were. GPS made the whole process
much easier.
On my Stationair trip, Honolulu starts
me downhill toward the entry corridor
over Kalaupapa, Molokai into PHNL. As
usual, ATC vectors me out to sea south
of Honolulu International at 1000 AWL
(Above Water Level) and inally turns me
back in for a long, straight-in approach to
runway 4R.
he landing is uneventful, and I turn
of the active and head for Air Service Honolulu. Flight
time from Santa Barbara was 15 +08, and the Hobbs meter
reads 31.2 hours as I taxi in to the ramp. My friend, service
manager Brian Koki, is in front of the hangar and waves
me into a parking spot.
Following the usual pleasantries about where I’ve
been lately and what I’ve been lying, I casually pop open
the oil door and pull the dipstick to check oil burn on the
15-hour leg. I had the oil changed at the Cessna dealer
in Long Beach, but experience suggests there’ll be some
burn, even on a new engine.
Brian looks over my shoulder and comments, “Boy,
that’s some of the cleanest oil I’ve seen after a Paciic
crossing. I can hardly see a level.”Single Engine
Over he
South Pacic
Santa Barbara to Sydney sounds
like a long trip. You have no idea.PORTRAIT: LARA TOMLINCROSS-COUNTRY LOG
By Bill Cox❯ ❯ “Understandably, the
owner wants a new engine
for his new airplane. Someone
would probably blame me if
they could, but no one can
igure out how a pilot could
induce high oil consumption,
so I'm off the hook.”