The only time I’ve performed what I consider to have been a for-real high-altitude takeoff, it went fine. I was at Albuquerque, N.M.’s Double Eagle II airport, elevation some 5800 feet. It wasn’t the middle of summer, but it was a warm, sunny fall afternoon. I don’t recall which runway I used, but it offered more than enough length for my Debonair, which carried only me, some gear and full fuel. As I’d been trained, I leaned the engine before the takeoff and let the airplane fly itself off the runway. I handled it gently until gaining enough airspeed to establish a proper climb and I had some altitude.
Some years later, one distinctive memory of that takeoff is the time and distance it took to accelerate to liftoff speed. The takeoff roll was both longer in duration and with slower acceleration than I was accustomed. As successful as it was, I came away thinking the only good thing about a high-altitude takeoff is that it put me that much closer to my planned cruising altitude.
