Author: Thorsten Renk

Altiports

If you are up for some challenging approaches and tricky landings while you like to enjoy spectacular scenery, here is a good suggestion for a destination – try visiting the French altiports.

Altiports are small airfields for small aircraft and helicopters located high up in the mountains, often serving a ski resort. The runway is usually short and quite steeply sloped (in the case of Courchevel, the slope is a solid 18.5%), and all landings are done uphill with no go-around procedure. Since the alitports are by no means in the mountain summit region, the approaches must be done in the confined regions of a valley, which means they are usually curved and somewhat dangerous. As a rule, no navaids are available, thus altiports can only operate in good weather – all this adds up to a challenge. In fact, the History Channel program ‘Most Extreme Airports’ ranks Courchevel as the 7th most dangerous airport in the world, and once you do your first approach, you will quickly discover why.

Flying the French Alps is significantly more interesting by using the highly detailed custom scenery which is available for free under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 here. There are six altiports in the French Alps, L’Alpe d’Huez, Courchevel, La Rosiére, Mégève, Méribel and Valloire, along with a number of airfields in the valleys. The first two of these, L’Alpe d’Huez (LFHU) and Courchevel (LFLJ), have been modelled in detail for the custom scenery and are available from the PAF team hangar here. This package also contains a detailed model of Grenoble Le Versoud Aerodrome (LFLG) which is a good place to take off for a first look at Courchevel or L’Alpe d’Huez.

Here is a picture of the layout of L’Alpe d’Huez as it appears in Flightgear:

The challenges of mountain-flying

Beginners are probably better off with a powerful turboprop STOL aircraft like the de Havilland DHC-6 ‘Twin Otter’ which has the climb rate to pull out of dangerous situations, but the real challenge is better experienced in a small aircraft like the Robin DR-400. With a constant pitch single propeller and no retractable gear, this plane is, especially when passengers and baggage are on board, seriously taxed to climb over the high mountain ridges which in many cases reach above 11.000 ft.

The fuel and payload menu item allows to adjust both the fuel level in the tanks as well as any additional weight on board. Asymmetric weight distribution in JSBSim is in fact taken into account properly, if for instance the copilot weight is reduced in flight, the plane starts to roll.

Here, a DR-400 is lined up for takeoff in Courchevel with L’Alpe d’Huez as destimation. Since the airport is at an altitude of about 6500 ft, it is important to adjust the mixture properly to the altitude in order to get the full engine power for takeoff.

Once the engine is running at full power, the brakes are released and the plane accelerates quickly down the steeply sloped runway, becoming airborn halfway. Departing from Courchevel, it becomes readily apparent why the altiport is challenging and why there is no go-around procedure available.

On the direct way, the high ridges of the Vanoise National Park with elevations well above 9000 ft have to be crossed – with the fully loaded DR-400, this is a slow climb over snow-covered mountains.

Snowcover in Flightgear can be generated by shader effects with a user-controlled snowline. Since the shader effect does not place snow on steep slopes, the outcome looks very compelling.

However, also the lower valleys during the descent to L’Alpe d’Huez have a lot to offer.

This is the final approach, aiming between rocky cliffs. At this point there is still a chance to break off.

The final moments – we are committed to a landing now. The trick is to aim low and reach the threshold in level flight, then pull up to follow the slope of the runway, let gravity develerate the plane and let it touch down softly (if you try a normal approach on a runway with such a steep slope, you will break the gear) and not throttle back engine too fast, because the plane still needs to reach the top of the runway, and once the plane comes to a halt on the slope, the engine often is not powerful enough to get it moving again.

All went well – time to enjoy the company of the other pilots and have a coffee before heading back to Courchevel.

In bad weather, things can be much worse. If the valley is cloud-filled, there is no choice but to turn back if no good view of the airport is possible early on. And in gusty crosswinds, hitting the runway just right is a challenge on its own.

The beauty of mountain flying

However, once one masters the challenges of high-altitude flight and navigating in the confines of valleys, flying the Franch Alps in nice weather is primarily a good way to see spectacular scenery. Let’s head back to Courchevel!

Here, the DR-400 accelerates down the sloped runway of L’Alpe d’Huez – going down, airplanes accelerate much faster than one is used to on level runways, so we can get airborn in just a few moments.

Leaving L’Alpe d’Huez, the village and ski resort becomes visible. The winding road up from the valley is actually a popular mountain stage of the Tour de France.

The vicinity of L’Alpe d’Huez has deep valleys, spectacular cliffs and Canyons and steep, rocky mountain faces – one can fly through the valleys or high above the mountain ridges.

Enroute to Courchevel, we leave the high ridges behind and cross to the Vanoise Park in the vicinity of Modane.

Descending again, Courchevel becomes visible (just to the left of the screenshot) while the lower valleys vanish in afternoon fog.

Final impressions

Of course, one of the must-see destinations in the vicintiy is Mt. Blanc, towering at 15.781 ft above most cloud development. Its rocky lower slopes and steep cliffs make for some really spectacular scenery, and especially at sunrise or sunset, the view from the summit is spectacular.

As the sun goes down, the last clouds light up over L’Alpe d’Huez which is to be closed over the night. High time to get back to Grenoble.

Part I: Convective clouds

Author: Thorsten Renk

The screenshots shown in the following use shaders, textures and scenery which are for various reasons (incompatible license, too recent development,…) not part of the official Flightgear 2.6 release. However, these are available for download and every feature works with Flightgear 2.6. The following packages need to be installed in addition to get to see the same: lightfield shader package v1.1, Juneau custom scenery, and textures from regional textures v0.1.

An integrated weather system

Without a doubt, clouds, haze and fog are the most easily noticed features of weather in a flight simulation, followed by winds. Advanced Weather v1.4 is however more than a tool to draw clouds and set wind parameters – it is a system with a (limited) understanding what the weather which it currently tries to render is, and it aims to simulate features of atmospheric physics.

This means that different weather phenomena tie together – winds and terrain influence the way cloud formation is taking place, cloud formation and the formation of thermal updrafts is connected, and weather is always understood as part of a large-scale weather pattern involving high and low pressure systems.

At the same time, clouds and atmospheric haze also influence the atmospheric light (and now also the scenery) in an essential way – strong fogging changes the color of sunrises to a blue-grey, wave patterns on the ocean follow the wind strength and direction and rain causes visibly wet runways. Let us have a look at how this works in fair weather.

The formation of convective clouds

Fair weather is typically characterized by convective cloud development: The sun heats the terrain and the air layer just above, thus warm air rises up in ‘bubbles’ and forms thermals, as the air rises, it expands and cools and eventually the moisture condenses into droplets, forming the characteristic, cauliflower-shaped Cumulus clouds. Cumulus clouds are the most common example of clouds formed by pronounced vertical motion of air.

As every glider pilot looking for thermals has to learn quickly, the formation of convective clouds depends on many different factors. The terrain type is crucial – while rock or concrete surfaces heat well in sunshine and may easily lead to well-developed thermals and cloud formation, open water or ice is much less likely to heat up in sunshine and seed Cumulus formation. High points in the terrain mark the spots where the bubbles of warm air are most likely to lift off the ground. Another important factor is the time of the day: The sun needs sufficient time to heat the terrain, therefore Cumulus formation is densest around noon, but the thermal updrafts are strongest in the afternoon, and while pronounced Cumulus clouds are unlikely to form in the morning, the thermal energy accumulated over a day may still give rise to well-developed clouds in the evening.

Let’s follow the development of convective clouds during a day in Juneau (Alaska). At sunrise, only very few clouds form, and they are transient, whispy phenomena (click to enlarge images):

Later in the day, the cloud formation is somewhat stronger. Note how clouds tend to form over mountain peaks, but do not form over open water. Also, no strong cloud development occurs over Taku glacier in the upper left, despite its high altitude, as the ice surface does not heat well in the sun.

At noon, the thermal updrafts become stronger and consequently the clouds become more well-defined. While in the morning the upward motion of air rarely exceeds 0.5 m/s, around noon this becomes rather 1 m/s, to strengthen even more in the afternoon.

Yet a few hours later, the number of clouds decreases again as the thermal irradiation by the sun weakens, but then typically fewer but stronger thermals with larger cap clouds are found.

Towards sunset, there is still significant thermal energy left to lead to sizeable cloud development, although the number of clouds as well as the typical strength of thermals is decreasing again. During the night, the development of convective clouds breaks more or less down completely as there is no thermal energy from the sun available.

Interaction of convective clouds, wind and the terrain

Wind meeting a terrain barrier corresponds to an upward-moving airflow, and hence is able to alter the development pattern of convective clouds in an essential way. Consider the following scene above Maui (Hawaii) in the absence of winds. Clouds rim the peak of Haleakala, but do not actually reach all the way up to the mountaintop (note also that due to the different latitude of Hawaii, there is far more thermal energy coming from the sun than in Juneau, leading to a much higher overall density of clouds):

With 20 kt winds coming from the north, the picture changes quite drastically: clouds are now pushed up all the way to the summit of Haleakala by the rising air, whereas the falling air south of the crater creates a lee effect in which convective clouds disappear. The vegetation pattern of Maui reflects these prevaling conditions – while moist air is carried up all the way to the summit of Haleakala, it rains off and irrigates the northern slopes of the mountain, leading to a bright green forest belt. The southern slopes on the other hand see typically falling air and dissolving clouds, and are consequently much drier.

Convective clouds in flight

If the appropriate option is selected, thermals are automatically generated along with Cumulus clouds so that thermal soaring is possible. Combined with the effect of ridge lift, this can make for rather realistic mountain soaring conditions in which a good degree of skill is required to stay in the air.

But the detailed interplay between convection and the terrain leads to interesting scenes also in other planes. Around noon, the peaks of high mountains are often covered in rather dramatic clouds piling up against the slopes.

Further down, the altitude of the cloudbase is no longer determined by the terrain but by the air layers.

And yet, the terrain elevation and the change between land and water imprint a pronounced pattern onto the distribution of density, shape and size of convective clouds.

Convection may also occur due to vertical instabilities in upper air layers, leading to the development of Altocumulus clouds, or at even higher altitudes Cirrocumulus clouds. Here’s an example of the development of Altocumulus fields at 15.000 ft. At such high altitudes, the clouds are no longer influenced by the terrain underneath, but rather by the properties of the air layers between which the Altocumuli form. For instance, Altocumulus development may be caused by the instabilities associated with an approaching cold front, and may thus signal the danger of severe thunderstorms in the near future. The Advanced Weather offline weather generation automatically includes this and other rules of large-scale weather patterns.

Next: Layered clouds, haze, fog and precipitation

Do you want to earn your astronaut’s wings?

Author: Thorsten Renk

Real spaceships aren’t actually piloted into orbit. The risk that a human being, strapped to his acceleration seat and under a crushing acceleration of 4 g for a prolonged period of time is unable to fly with the precision required to reach orbit is far too great, and real spacecraft reach orbit on autopilot.

But what would it be like? Welcome to a scenario in which a Russian Vostok spacecraft has been acquired by the USA and fitted for a manually flown mission.

This is the launch vehicle assembled at Edwards Airforce Base. The actual capsule is hidden under an aerodynamically formed protective cover. Below it is the third stage of the rocket, with its exhaust nozzle visible. All this is mounted on top of the huge first and second stage. Unlike many US rockets, which use sequentially burning stages, the first stage of the Vostok launch vehicle consists of four boosters which burn along with the long, cylindrical second stage.

The inside of the spacecraft is a very small place. There are no big windows (and currently the protective cover blocks the view outside in any case), so there is not so much to see except the instruments. In front of me is the main instrument panel, and to the right is the stage control panel, left of it the control handle.

Here’s a closeup onto the main instrument panel. Since I won’t be able to see anything of the outside during much of the ascent and the descent, this is what I will have to navigate with. The most important instruments are in the lower half of the panel – altimeter, inertial speed indicator, vertical speed indicator, dynamical pressure, orientation and acceleration. This isn’t enough to fly with any precision, say to rendezvous with ISS – but that’s not what the Vostok is for, it’s made to carry a human into orbit and back, and this is what I will do.

One of my most important aids however is a handwritten cue sheet which tells me roughly at what altitude, velocity and orientation the rocket should be at a given time. Without such reference, it is very hard to gauge whether the rocket is on a good ascent path or not.

Unfortunately, the ‘not being able to see too much’ is also a technical limitation. The Flightgear rendering engine is not designed to handle views from low Earth orbit, and even with the cutting edge development high altitude and extreme visibility rendering I’m using in the following, the view doesn’t really measure up to real views of Earth from orbit.

After igniting the engine, the thrust takes a few seconds to ramp up, but the Vostok rocket delivers a solid 2 g initial thrust with first and second stage burning, so I lift off quickly. After the first few seconds, I rotate the rocket around its main axis such that I am facing my launch heading. To make use of Earth’s rotation, launches are done eastward. As soon as I reach the desired heading, I push the ascent path out of the vertical along my launch vector to about 60 degrees with the horizon. During ascent, I will thus be more and more hanging face-down in the capsule, facing Earth at all times. Which is very reasonable, because in case of any instrument malfunction, this gives me at least a rough visual reference. Of course, the actual forces in the capsule are nothing like hanging face-down, the acceleration always pushes me back into the seat.

After passing about 20.000 ft, the dynamical pressure starts growing large, and I have to throttle back to avoid damage to the rocket. After all, a rocket is little more than a thin shell around fuel tanks: For instance, the second stage weighs roughly 100 tons at liftoff, but its empty weight is a bit over 7 tons. The air thins rapidly, however, and thus the dynamical pressure decreases quickly and I go to full thrust again. Once above the pressure peak, I push the nose of the rocket further down to 30 degrees with the horizon and start building up forward velocity while Edwards AFB vanishes below.

The full power of the JSBSim flight dynamics and atmosphere model affects this part of the ascent, and so the interaction between rocket and atmosphere is as realistic as the available data on the Vostok can make it.

After about 90 seconds, the fuel of the first stage boosters is almost spent, and the reduced mass of the launch vehicle ramps up the acceleration to 4 g and beyond. Once again, I throttle back to stay below 4 g to avoid damage to the rocket. At about 120 seconds, the first stage is out of fuel, and I separate the boosters. I am now high enough that air friction is negligible, and so I also blast the protective cover off the capsule and can take the first look outside (nothing much to see though). The second stage is still heavy at this point, and so the thrust goes back to about 2 g as we climb the 100 km altitude limit into space.

The whole flight dynamics changes quite drastically during a mission from the initial launch vehicle to the re-entry of the capsule. Also the weight of spent fuel is a significant factor. All these effects are quite distinctly felt during ascent to orbit.

At this stage, I have to start watching my ascent casefully. The second stage separation should bring me roughly to my orbital altitude with about zero vertical speed so that the third stage burn just keeps me at this altitude while accelerating me to orbital velocity of a bit more than 28.000 km/h. However, the second stage reaches more than 4 g thrust towards the end of its burn, while the third stage starts with barely 0.5 g thust, so any mistake I make at this stage will at best take very long to correct with the 3rd stage burn, at worst be unrecoverable. Thus, I control the pitch angle very carefully and monitor altitude and vertical speed.

About 5 minutes after launch, the second stage burns out and I separate it as well and ignite the third stage. Flying a rocket is very different from flying an airplane – while an airplane reacts to its immediate surroundings and doesn’t remember much of what was five minutes ago, the rocket’s current state is pretty much determined by what happened the last five minutes. If the ascent to this stage was bad, there’s nothing much I can do to correct it now. But my altitude and speed after 2nd stafe separation are within reasonable parameters, and so I continue build up speed while keeping my altitude with the half g thrust the third stage provides.

Another five minutes later, close to reaching orbital velocity, I have to throttle down. The speed must be reached quite accurately, otherwise I might go into an elliptical orbit rather than an almost circular orbit. And this is problematic, because the TDU has even less thrust than the 3rd stage, so if the 3rd stage brings me too high, I might not be able to de-orbit at all.

There are also technical reasons – Flightgear currently isn’t designed to handle an altitude above 150 km, so I have to reach an orbit below 150 km and above 100 km where the atmosphere is thin enough.

I watch the perigee indicator carefully, and as it starts rapidly climbing, I separate the 3rd stage – I am in orbit! Apogee and perigee indicators read 128 km and 140 km, so while not completely circular, this is reasonably good.

Flying to this stage isn’t easy – only three Flightgear pilots have to my knowledge reached a stable orbit with the Vostok spacecraft. You have to work for your astronaut’s wings!

From this point, I only have the minimal thrust of the TDU available to turn the spacecraft and decelerate. Rather than aerodynamical controls, I now have to fire thrusters to change my attitude, so the spacecraft handles once again completely different.

JSBSim handles the attitude control thrusters just as well as the aerodynamical controls, and the spacecraft handles again very plausibly at this stage of the mission.

There’s not much to do while drifting along in the orbit. Look out and watching the sunrise is nice though.

The cutting-edge development experimental lightfield shader brings out the Earth shadow moving across the terrain, the stark shadows in low light and the differential light dependent on altitude very nicely.

To de-orbit, I turn the spacecraft around and fire the TDU main engine to use up the remaining fuel. This lower my perigee such that it intersects with the atmosphere – the friction will have to take care of the rest. Then I separate the TDU as well. At first, the first gentle touches of the atmosphere lead to a tumbling motion of the capsule, this then stabilizes as the drag increases, and I start falling faster and faster.

If you though the 4 g during ascent where tough, then you haven’t experienced re-entry yet. As the capsule finally reaches the lower atmosphere, a deceleration force of 8 g and more brutally brings me from orbital speed to a few hundred km/h. I simply black out during this stage.

Flightgear optionally simulates blackout and redout due to extreme acceleration at set limits.

By the time I get conscious again, I have an altitude of about 10 km and most of the speed is gone. Time to get the brake parachute out and kill the rest of the forward motion. After the braking parachute has done its job, I get the main parachute out, and once my vertical motion has slowed down, the final task is to activate the soft landing sensor.

Close to the US west coast, I gently splash into the ocean. Nothing to do now except to sit tight and wait for the recovery crew to pick me up…

Soaring in Innsbruck

Author: Thorsten Renk

Innsbruck, 6 am on a warm summer morning just after sunrise. The first members of the aeroclub vacationing with their gliders get out of the tents and observe the weather. There is thin Cirrus coverage overhead, and the first weak Cumulus clouds are forming already. Winds are a steady 10 degrees from East – it looks like a promising day for soaring. I get the ASK-13 out and ready.

(In reality, we would not have the plane out like this in the morning – it’s dangerous to let light planes with excessively long wings lie around in 10 kt winds – either it would have a hangar space, or it would be disassembled in a trailer – but there are some things even Flightgear doesn’t simulate.)

The Local Weather subsystem of Flightgear has a fair amount of knowledge of convection and thermals. For instance, it includes the time into the decision what thermals are formed, and the strength of early morning thermal activity is thus a good guide for the strength later in the day.

Around noon, the thermal activity has significantly increased and thick Cumulus development is seen over the mountain ridges. I’m getting ready for a winch launch in the ASK-13. The ASK-13 is a rather old glider with a glide ratio of 28 optimum (i.e. it covers 28 m distance while sinking 1 m), thus it is not suitable for covering large distances, but it has very good slow-flying properties, and thus it can circle in very narrow thermals.

There’s no need to make a flightplan – soaring can’t be planned. I’ll simply get up there, have a look around and see what possibilities there are, and if I don’t catch a thermal quickly, I’ll land back on the field and do a second winch launch. Soaring in most locations is about finding the thermal updrafts beneath Cumulus clouds and circling them to get altitude. In the mountains, there is additionally the upward deflection of wind by mountain ridges, called ridge lift, which also leads to vicious sink in the lee of the mountains. Flying a glider in the mountains is difficult – often you may have to circle in a confined valley, you may unexpectedly get into a lee and lose a lot of altitude, or you may be forced to land in an unsuitable location.

Flightgear simulates both thermal and ridge lift and (in a very experimental way) in principle also wave lift. Ridge lift is dependent on the wind, terrain roughtness and the local terrain slope, whereas thermal lift is dependent on factors like terrain type and terrain elevation – just as in real life, strong lift does not form over open water but rather over surfaces which heat up in the sun. So, looking for rock surfaces or elevated terrain where a thermal is more likely to form are meaningful in Flightgear as in real life.

A winch launch gets us up into the air quickly – with a good climber like the ASK-13, 500 m altitude are possible (European gliders measure the altitude in meters, not in feet). Winch launch takes a bit getting used to, as it leads to quite rough acceleration and climb more resembling the performance of a rocket than of a plane, but is fun after a while.

The altitude gained in Flightgear winch launches is a bit generous when compared with reality. What launches are supported depends on the plane – several gliders allow aerotow in addition to winch launch. Aerotow allows to get to significantly higher altitude and basically any position, but is in reality much more expensive than winch launch.

Just after disconnecting from the winch, all of Innsbruck lies before us. I’m now turning south, as there are some promising clouds on the slopes there. I have to find a thermal quickly – there are none on the valley floor, so the actual altitude reserve I have are not 300 m above valley floor with 200 m for a safe landing, but far less since I have to look above elevated terrain.

And we enter the first thermal! It’s even a fairly decent one, with a net lift of more than 1.5 m/s. While strong thermals can give lift of 3-4 m/s, starting out low I have to use what I can get – this is not the time to be picky. Properly centering a thermal when entering from below requires some skill – there is no visual reference provided by the cap cloud, so this has to be flown by instruments.

A thermal in Flightgear is not just a uniform area of lift – it has a fairly complicated structure. There is a rim of turbulent air, and an outer layer of sink, the lift is strongest in the center of thermal, the whole column of rising air is slanted and a bit wasp-waisted, so the radius entering a thermal low is smaller than right beneath the cap cloud. Optionally, thermals also have a time evolution, i.e. they form and die off after a while.

After a good ten minutes work, we reach the cloudbase with a good 1500 m more on the altimeter. Now it’s time to go fly some mountains!

The ASK-13 is a twin-seater – a view from the back seat position (taken either by a passenger or an instructor) as we head south into Stubaital – Widdersberg just ahead slightly yo the right.

The ASK-13 can actually take a passenger (sitting on a different computer) via dual control in the backseat position.

Some gorgeous views of the Alps!

Here, I’m using the Innsbruck Custom Scenery, which received a lot of attention also by model developers in recent years, and is hence rather spectacular (see https://www.flightgear.org/forums/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=5350 in the Forum).

Since I’m now hugging a western slope, there is some amount of ridge lift available. The wind is not strong enough for me to really gain altitude, but by going close to the slope I can almost compensate my sink and hence make distance without losing altitude. The downside is that the wind is definitely strong enough to create substantial sink on leeward slopes, so I have to be very careful where I fly.

Heading into a small valley. Soaring is all about realizing possibilities – here the cloud looks very promising, and if I get a good strong thermal, I might even be able to cross the slopes to the right into the next valley. But it will not be easy – the terrain will restrict my circles, so I may not be able to center a thermal properly. I decide to give it a try.

This isn’t going well at all… First, there is some leeward sink coming in, reducing my altitude. Then, the thermal is there, but it is too weak and too small to really lift me up. In the center, I get half a meter of lift, but I can’t keep the plane stationary there, and circling the thermal my net lift is down to almost nothing. Moreover, I am running out of time – the cloud drifts towards the western slope, and I can’t follow it with the altitude I have left – I decide to abandon before conditions become unsafe.

As in real life, a promising cloud doesn’t guarantee a strong thermal. There is some randomness in the correlation between cap cloud size and thermal lift, and even a strong thermal may be in practice not flyable because its radius is too small. The thermal system is not designed to make soaring easy, but to make it a realistic experience, and disappointments are part of the experience. Soaring is not just heading to the next cloud to catch the next lift – one also has to be prepared for the case that no lift can be had there.

Turning around, the situation isn’y actually dangerous yet (in the event, I just need a 50 m strip of relatively level grass to land, which is easy to be had), but it’s not good either. I don’t really want to land in the countryside, because my team might otherwise face a long drive with the trailer to get the plane back. First, I have to head back into Stubaital.

And here we are – plenty of fields to use as landing sites just in case. And a very long way to go back to Innsbruck – all the way to the end of the valley. It looks impossible, but… there is still the ridge lift. Unfortunately, no thermals to help us out of this – the only visible clouds are on leeward slopes, and that’s a very bad idea to try. So I decide to fly very close to the slope to catch most of the ridge lift and try to get back to Innsbruck.

And… it works just fine – with just 50 m altitude loss I make it back – since the valley floor now drops, I have plenty of altitude to spare for my approach to Innsbruck.

Safely back at Innsbruck, and time for the next person to get into the plane and enjoy flying the Alps. I had hoped to fly a longer trip (I did manage to climb above the Habicht once with spectacular views into Italy), but then, soaring can’t be planned, and especially in the mountains, the conditions are often difficult.

A trip to Tenzing-Hillary Airport

Author: Thorsten Renk

One of the most dangerous airports in the world, Tenzing-Hilary Airport, also known as Lukla airport, hugs a small plateau in the Himalayan foothills. It is the gateway for trekkers into the Sagarmatha national park and climbers trying to reach the summit of Mt. Everest. The runway has a length of 460 m and a 12 degree slope – it needs aircraft with STOL (short takeoff and landing) capacities to operate from it. Usually DHC-6 Twin Otter or Dornier Do 228 aircraft, weather permitting, connect Kathmandu and Lukla. Today we will make the trip with the Beechcraft 1900D, a more modern commercial twin-engine turboprop which is also up to the task ahead.

Preflight preparations begin at Kathmandu airport. We will take off before dawn and experience the sunrise in-flight over the mountains. The route is about 70 miles due east from Kathmandu, just along the main mountain range. In good weather, several major summits are visible. Lukla itself is not equipped for instrument approaches, so we have to approach in VFR flight.

Many airports in Flightgear have a set of night textures, making the models visually appealing not only during day but also when it’s dark. Similarly, for many airplanes the cockpit lighting is modelled in some detail. Here, I have switched on the main panel light to illuminate my cockpit during flight preparations. The aircraft models also usually have strobe, nav, taxi or landing lights simulated.

Today, we have broken cloud cover over Kathmandu. As we climb, dawn approaches and the sky brightens, outlining the towering mountain ranges. Kathmandu has an elevation of 4300 ft, Lukla of about 9300 ft, but even this altitude is not even halfway up to Mount Everest with a bit above 29.000 ft. In fact, since the B-1900D is only certified up to 25.000 ft, we wouldn’t even reach the summit at top altitude.

At sunrise and sunset, Flightgear models the different level of light available on the ground and in the air. While it may still be dark on the ground, more light reaches the plane at higher altitude.

A few minutes later, the sun comes above the horizon and sky and cloud lights up while the terrain is still in deep shadow.

For this flight, I am using a development version of Flightgear which experiments with an improved modelling of atmospheric haze layers and shading of the terrain during sunrise and sunset. The result are quite impressive views of the sky. Presumably, this feature will become available with the regular release of Flightgear 2.6.

As we reach Lukla valley, the sun is up and some morning fog hangs in the lower foothills of the mountain ranges.

Now we turn into the approach, and Lukla valley is right before us. There is some fog in the upper valley, but the airstrip itself is clear (it can barely be seen just below the left windshield wiper).

We fly close to the left valley edge to have more space for the final approach. This means crossing some ridges at low altitude and sets off terrain warnings.

Many planes in the Flightgear world have instrumentation which warns about insufficient terrain clearance or potential collisions with incoming traffic.

Now it’s time to turn right into the 060 final approach. The wind is bad – it comes almost right from the rear, but as you’ll see shortly, the approach to runway 30 isn’t exactly available.

Here we are, lined up with the runway. Time to get the gear out and to decelerate a bit.

Some wind drift as we come in – last minute corrections. Lukla is not an airport for missed approaches or second chances – there is a solid rock wall right behind the runway and no chance to pull up. We have to hit the runway now, no matter what happens.

This fairly detailed model of Lukla is an addon to the official Flightgear scenery.

And… here we are, braking real hard.

Welcome to Tenzing-Hillary airport. We hope you enjoyed the flight with us!

In case you find the idea that Air New Zealand would operate in the Himalaya a bit odd, Flightgear offers The Livery Database where many more liveries from all over the world can be found for popular aircraft.