The town is known as a hub of colonial American history in general and for its connections to founding father Thomas Jefferson in particular and has been a popular destination since long before the first powered flight.

Today, though, it is also among the most inviting places for general aviation pilots , thanks in part to Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport (KCHO), a towered field with a spacious terminal, scheduled airline and charter flights , and a range of services for private pilots.

Getting There

Flying into airports near the special flight rules area (SFRA), the roughly 30 nm radius encircling Reagan Washington National Airport (KDCA) and Washington, D.C., requires special consideration. Unless my destination is inside that restricted area, I simply avoid it. Charlottesville is outside the SFRA to the southwest but close enough for potential discomfort.

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The direct route from my home airport at Sussex, New Jersey (KFWN), grazes the SFRA and takes me through the Class B airspace of Dulles International Airport (KIAD). Rather than pick my way along the restricted perimeter and under the Class B shelf, I added Winchester Regional (KOKV) as a waypoint that would keep me clear of those sensitive areas. While I am fond of F-16s, I worry incessantly about the prospect of being intercepted by one.

The Airport

Long before today’s KCHO opened, Charlottesville was a magnet for some of the earliest aviators. In 1912, Beckwith Havens, a young demonstration pilot who worked for the Curtiss Aeroplane Company, made two 12-minute flights in a Curtiss Pusher from the University of Virginia’s Lambeth Field during the college’s Easter celebration. According to historical records, spectators paid 50 cents for admission to the field. Havens went to work for Glenn Curtiss in 1910 as a salesman, but Curtiss soon taught him to fly.

An airport called Wood Field that included a flying school opened in town in 1929 but closed within a few years as the Great Depression took hold. In 1951 town officials decided to begin the project that would become Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport.

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Unlike several midsize airports we have visited, KCHO lacks a direct connection with aviation’s golden age. The field did not get its start during the 1920s as a grass strip where airmail pilots landed to refuel or for emergency assistance, nor did it host Ford Trimotors and Douglas DC-3s in the 1930s as scheduled airline operations began to expand. While many of today’s airports opened at or near the beginning of World War II as training centers for military pilots, Charlottesville was built after the war, opening in 1954. Still, KCHO’s development provides an informative reflection of how airline travel evolved.

Although the Jet Age had begun by the time of the airport’s completion, and the program handed out during its official opening ceremony included the stylized image of a swept-wing jet on its cover, the airport—and its relatively short runway—were designed around the piston-engine airliners that defined the period.

The airport began operations the same year British aviation authorities grounded the fleet of new de Havilland Comet jet airliners following three fatal accidents involving in-flight breakups. The Comet prototype first flew in 1949, and the production version entered service with British Overseas Airways Corp. in 1952.

The aircraft was a watershed design whose turbine power and pressurized cabin allowed it to fly at higher altitudes than were typical for piston airliners and cruise at speeds previously unheard of for passenger airliners. It promised to solidify Britain’s position as leaders in aviation technology. The accidents, however, slowed the acceptance of jet propulsion for commercial aircraft. At most airports, including KCHO, propeller-driven aircraft such as Douglas DC-3s and DC-6s, prewar and wartime designs respectively, carried out the airline flights.

Jets did not arrive at Charlottesville until 1969, when Piedmont Airlines began operating Boeing 727s there, around the same time the runway was extended to 6,000 feet. In the 1980s, the airport added another 800 feet to the runway to support the many regional jets that operate from KCHO. Today, the airport serves more than 500,000 passengers annually.

Things to Do

There is a lot going on in Charlottesville, with numerous historical sites, tours, galleries, shops, and restaurants vying for your attention. The list of possibilities might prove too long for a single visit, so it is best to plan carefully and focus on the attractions that interest you most.

Here are a few suggestions to get you started:

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Monticello

Most people would say you cannot visit without spending time at Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s hilltop home. The house and grounds offer a window into the mind and personality of the country’s third president, lead writer of the Declaration of Independence, and founder of the University of Virginia. Jefferson designed the house and the property’s many outbuildings, and the home’s interior details and grounds say much about his tastes and lifestyle. A number of tours are available at Monticello and worthwhile for anyone seeking a better understanding of the nation’s beginnings.

Highland

While you are visiting Monticello, you should take advantage of the adjacent location of Highland, former home to fifth president, James Monroe. Visitors will spot several contrasts and similarities in the two homes, but for many people, Highland will seem like a more realistic place to live.

During tours of the house you can learn more about the wide range of people who visited during Monroe’s decades-long political career and become more familiar with their individual stories. You can also come away with a clearer sense of history through Monroe’s point of view.

University of Virginia

When Jefferson founded the public university in 1819, it was uncharted academic territory. The idea of a public institution for the advancement of knowledge seemed to many like a reach.

Today, UVA is a well-established, must-see in Charlottesville. I recommend a tour, so you will not miss attractions such as author Edgar Allan Poe’s dormitory room from the short time he was a student at UVA. A group called the Raven Society keeps the room as it would have looked during Poe’s time. You can also see Lambeth Field, where Havens performed air shows more than 100 years ago.

Jefferson had an architectural affection for domed buildings—including Monticello—and the Rotunda on the UVA campus is one that is open to visitors and worth a visit. Jefferson also designed the serpentine brick walls that can be seen lining gardens on campus, many of which are open to visitors.

The Memorial to Enslaved Laborers is a more recent addition to campus that serves as a tribute to the people who built the university.

The Mall

The Charlottesville Mall is not a “big box” indoor shopping center but a picturesque downtown pedestrian corridor lined with more than 120 shops and 30 restaurants. Highlights include clothing stores, independent bookstores, consignment shops and more.

Numerous outdoor cafes give the mall the feel of a European village square. Visiting at night, when the mall’s unique overhead lights are on, adds to the unique atmosphere.

Charlottesville-Albermarle Airport (KCHO)

Location: Charlottesville, Virginia
Airport elevation: 640 feet msl
Airspace: Class D
Airport hours: Continuous. Tower operates 0600-2300
Runways: 03/21
Lighted: Pilot-controlled PAPI
Pattern altitude: 1,640 msl

This column first appeared in the May 2024/Issue 948 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Thomas Jefferson Certainly Left His Mark on Charlottesville appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Our visit was almost perfect, with exciting matches, great competition, and enough spare time to enjoy some of the city’s attractions. The only downside was the drive, which took about six hours from our home in New Jersey. As we crept on a congested section of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I glanced at Ben and said, “Let’s fly next time.”

I have learned to make such suggestions in a confident tone that belies the complex, often unpredictable nature of traveling in light aircraft. High winds , freezing rain, or any hint of a winter storm could scuttle our plans with little notice. If things go as planned, though, Dad might look like he knows what he is doing. It all worked out this year.

Getting There

Ben and I planned to fly right after school dismissal on a Friday afternoon so we would arrive in time to meet up with teammates for dinner. As usual, though, a number of delays conspired to grant us a departure at the tail end of sunset. Cleared for takeoff from Essex County Airport (KCDW), I lined up on Runway 22, applied full power, and soon Annie, our Commander 114B, was rising above suburban New Jersey, bending to the north to avoid nearby Morristown Airport’s (KMMU) Class D and heading straight for Pittsburgh.

Within 15 minutes the orange sky just above the horizon faded to black, and we were cruising through darkness, listening to radio traffic and acknowledging occasional handoffs from ATC. We also monitored our progress across Pennsylvania’s vastness based on the clusters of lights marking waypoints on the ground.

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Scranton, Wilkes-Barre, and Hazleton, a solo cross-country destination from my student-pilot days, slipped by quickly. Getting past Harrisburg to our south, however, seemed to take forever. The headwind at 6,500 had risen to 30 knots almost directly on the nose, adding to the sense of slog. Still, we were making far better time than the many closely packed headlights on the turnpike below.

Ben had retreated into slumber long before Harrisburg but awoke in time to see the encouraging glow of Altoona, followed closely by Johnstown before Pittsburgh loomed ahead. Soon we had our runway in sight and were cleared to descend and contact the Allegheny County tower. After shutting down I checked my watch. The trip took 2 hours and 30 minutes, which was not bad considering the wind and far better than a six-hour drive. We picked up our rental car and got to the hotel before the kitchen closed. Just.

The Airport

There are several airports convenient to Pittsburgh, from turf strips to the 2-mile-long runways of Pittsburgh International Airport (KPIT). Many general aviation pilots have long considered Allegheny County Airport (KAGC) the most convenient access point because it is in town, close to the places business and personal travelers want to visit. For those approaching from the east, as we did, KAGC is especially efficient because it is nearly 20 nm short of KPIT, tucked beneath the big airport’s 4,000-foot Class B shelf.

Opened in 1931, Allegheny County Airport succeeded Bettis Field, an airport developed in the 1920s on former farmland as part of the rapidly growing airmail network. Bettis became an aviation crossroads that hosted a number of notable pilots, including Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart. KAGC was the primary field serving Pittsburgh until KPIT opened in 1952. By that time it was clear that the old airport was too small to handle the jet airlines that were on the way. Standing on the ramp now, however, it is easy to imagine DC-3s, DC-6s, and other propeller-driven transports operating there.

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To understand what a big deal the airport was, GA pilots have to visit the original art deco terminal. Typical of early airline terminals, the building is beautifully decorated but impossibly small by modern standards, without the space required to handle modern ticketing lines and TSA checks. Airplanes and the flying public were smaller then. The Pittsburgh History & Landmarks Foundation added the airport to its list of historic landmarks in 1981.

Things to Do

Pittsburgh is a stunning place, beginning with its geography. The famous three rivers—the Ohio, Allegheny, and Monongahela—converge downtown, and parts of the city sit high above atop steep inclines and sheer cliffs. Beginning in the 1800s, steam-powered incline planes, also called funiculars and gravity railways, were used mainly to transport coal but quickly caught on as passenger services connecting many of the hilltop communities with the busy riverbank districts below.

More than 20 funiculars operated through the early 20th century before ridership gradually declined and most of the tracks were removed. Today you can ride the restored Duquesne and Monongahela inclines that have long provided direct access to the hard-to-reach Mount Washington and Duquesne Heights neighborhoods high above the city. The funiculars’ hilltop stations provide some of the area’s best views.

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Visitors could spend weeks walking and driving across the city’s many bridges and studying their varied designs. With three rivers meeting downtown, Pittsburgh’s transportation network revolves around the bridges. Anyone interested in architecture could also become happily lost among the wide-ranging styles of Pittsburgh, where one can find colonial-style taverns sandwiched between steel and glass high-rises and Brutalist apartment blocks.

Historical groups offer numerous walking, bicycle, and bus tours that can give visitors concentrated doses of Pittsburgh’s rich history in specific areas of interest. One example is “Fire in the Valley: Carnegie Steel and the Town That Built America,” an in-depth tour of the Steel City’s industrial past, including sites of former mills and pivotal events such as the 1892 Battle of Homestead, a clash between members of the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers union and Carnegie Steel’s security force.

There is so much to see that you might want to stage your own walking tour by choosing a group of waypoints within a reasonable distance. During breaks in the volleyball tournament, I joined groups of parents to check out local shops, galleries, and the vibrant craft beer scene. Our hotel was around the corner from the Andy Warhol Museum, a must-see for any visitor and a wonderful resource for anyone interested in learning more about the late artist and Pittsburgh native. Warhol is buried in St. John the Baptist Byzantine Catholic Cemetery in nearby Bethel Park.

Pittsburgh is not a small town, but it feels like everything is close. Its sports venues are in town, all of them easily walkable. Acrisure Stadium, where the NFL’s Steelers play, sits in a picturesque spot near a riverfront promenade. Last year our downtown hotel was across the street from PNC Park, where the MLB’s Pirates play. The PPG Paints Arena is home to the NHL’s Penguins and is situated within a few blocks of the convention center where our volleyball tournament takes place. Our rental car remained parked for most of our stay.

One thing you should think about when planning a visit to Pittsburgh is when you might be able to make a return trip. There will always be something that you missed because you ran out of time. Even if you carefully choose your points of interest, you are bound to meet someone who will recommend an attraction you had not considered.

In our case it was the Mount Washington neighborhood, once known as Coal Hill. After the tournament we wound up spending hours exploring this one-of-a-kind community and its challenging terrain. It is the kind of place that impressed even teenage Ben, who took dozens of photos and kept asking if we could walk just a bit farther to see what was around the next corner—a minor miracle.

Eventually we got back to the airport and prepared for another night flight. I had planned to be airborne earlier but could not complain because the Mount Washington stop was so much fun. As usual, Ben poked fun at the headlamp I wear when preflighting at night. He finds it almost too nerdy for words, but I would not fly without it.

We took off toward the city, taking in a beautiful parting view before making the 180-degree turn that put us on course back to KCDW. ATC cleared us to climb through the Class B, and soon we were cruising at 5,500 feet. Ben fell asleep before we cleared the Mode C veil, leaving me with the hum of Annie’s IO-540 for company. The 30-knot winds aloft from Friday night were still with us, too.

Only on the tail this time.

Allegheny County Airport (KAGC)

Location: West Mifflin, Pennsylvania

Airport elevation: 1,251.5 feet msl

Airspace: Class D

Airport hours: Continuous

Runways: 10/28, 13/31

Lighted: Yes, all runways

Pattern altitude: 1,000 feet agl for all traffic

This column first appeared in the April 2024/Issue 947 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Pittsburgh Offers Steel, Coal, Culture, and Much More appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Well, that obviously didn’t happen. The pandemic blew up everyone’s plans, and given the obvious jeopardy to my livelihood, the loss of our adventure barely registered. And then, as the world began to open back up, New Zealand stayed locked down longer than most. It wasn’t until Oshkosh 2022, when Dawn and I ran into Matt and Jo McCaughan at the FlyInn booth, that we dusted off our travel plans.

The McCaughans are friendly Kiwi sheep and cattle ranchers hailing from central Otago on the South Island, where they also run FlyInn, billed as “the authentic NZ self fly vacation.” They are also avid cruising sailors, which quickly became our main topic of conversation. Almost as an afterthought, we told them that while we’d be busy building our hangar/apartment for the 2022-23 season, we’d come fly with them in December 2023. Our revived New Zealand adventure would be our 20th wedding anniversary gift to each other.

We flew my airline from Seattle to Auckland on November 15, staying in New Zealand’s largest city for several days. On the 19th, our good friends Brad and Amber Phillips flew in, whereupon we rented a pair of campervans and headed south. The next two weeks would have been a pretty great vacation on their own. We spent six more days on the North Island, visiting the usual “must-dos” like Rotorua, Tongariro National Park, and Wellington as well as many more out-of-the-way locales.

Crossing the Cook Strait on a typically raucous ferry ride following a 40-knot blow, we spent another eight days road tripping through the South Island. We sampled excellent wine in Marlborough, tramped the fantastic coastal trail in Abel Tasman National Park, got rained on all down the wild West Coast, and set up camp in truly epic surroundings at Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park. All throughout, both the landscapes and climate frequently reminded us of the Pacific Northwest, Idaho, and Montana.

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The roads were scenic and engaging, the locals exceptionally friendly and helpful, the cities few and far in between. This is a country slightly larger than the U.K. but with only 5 million people…and 75 million sheep.

In Christchurch we returned the campers and said goodbye to the Phillips, as their busy life back home precluded them from joining the flying tour—more’s the pity. Dawn and I took an Air New Zealand ATR-72 from Christchurch to Queenstown, New Zealand’s renown adventure tourism hot spot, which is where the FlyInn tour began the next day.

Soon after we landed, Jo McCaughan emailed to say that they were rejiggering the itinerary to go to Milford Sound and Fiordland on day one, thanks to a brief weather window. This made sense. All throughout our travels, the weather had been exceptionally variable, with low ceilings and pouring rain as well as bright sunshine being encountered more days than not. It was clear that flying in New Zealand requires a fair amount of flexibility. Still, from what little I knew of Milford Sound, I got the impression that I was being thrown right into the deep end, sink or swim.

At the airport the next morning, we were joined by Matt McCaughan, longtime FlyInn instructor Nick Taylor, and North Carolinian couple Adam and Lissa Broome, our counterparts for the next eight days. McCaughan and Taylor introduced us to our rides for the week, two 180 hp Cessna 172s, registrations ZK-TRS and ZK-WAX.

For safety purposes FlyInn tends to keep the airplanes together, so we got to know the Broomes over the course of the tour. Notably, Adam circumnavigated the globe with his Beech Bonanza in 2016, making for some very interesting stories.

Dawn and I drew the eye-catching, yellow-and-blue ZK-WAX for the week and started with Matt as instructor. We began with a short hop up to Wanaka, FlyInn’s base of operations, for a coffee and chat. Sufficiently briefed, we departed to the northwest over the serrated, deep-blue ribbon of Lake Wanaka and climbed to circle striking, glacier-draped Mount Aspiring, “The Matterhorn of the South.”

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Beyond its peak, the weather turned significantly cloudier than forecast—no big surprise there. We flew over the top for a bit, found a good hole, dropped into a wide, verdant valley, and followed the glacial, gravel-strewn Pyke River to the appropriately named Big Bay. After making a good inspection pass and landing on the broad, dark-sand beach, we went for a tramp a short way inland, where there’s a hiker’s hut and seasonal fish camp. This is a good week’s hardy walk from the nearest road, and all resupply is done via beach landing.

We soon departed over the crashing surf and turned out to sea, making our way south around a series of cloud-choked headlands. Matt duly noted St. Anne’s Point straight ahead, and then Dale Point to our left, our cue to turn into the rain-soaked entrance to world-famous Milford Sound. It looked VFR—only just. Matt noted there would likely be sunshine (albeit with a lot of wind) at the head of the fjord. I proceeded in, keeping my right wing hard against the northern wall of the gorge at Matt’s urging—the better to turn around if his promised good weather didn’t materialize. But it did, along with rainbows and a couple dozen waterfalls and steaming tourist cruise boats. It was a truly magnificent sight.

And then came the wind, streaking the head of the fjord with long ribbons of spume and giving our little 172 a good bashing. Unperturbed, Matt kept up his litany of mandatory radio position reports. I was glad he was there since it was challenging enough just flying. I turned up the Cleddau River valley and began my letdown, reversing course at a wide fork in the river to make a modified dogleg final to Runway 29 at Milford Sound Airport (NZMF).

The sea breeze was gusting at 30 knots. My landing was not pretty. It was safe and acceptable, that’s all. A short taxi later, we shut down in the shadow of a dozen tour operators’ Grand Caravans, Airvans, and Kodiaks. With the steep rock walls and silvery cascades of Milford Sound as a majestic background, it would’ve made the world’s best “Learn to Fly!” poster.

As we ate lunch, I reflected on a few things. First, Kiwi pilots appear to be pretty comfortable in marginal VFR (IFR not being very common here). Strong local knowledge of weather and terrain helps mitigate the risk, as does observing a few rules of thumb that closely mirror those that my old-school first CFI taught me as “the right way to scud-run.”

Second, there’s a lot of trust in the engine—though, admittedly, a lot of the valley floors are probably survivable in case of forced landing, with fairly stunted bush and plentiful gravel bars on the rivers.

Thirdly, the high density of world-class scenery coupled with a highly developed tourist industry make much of the New Zealand backcountry far more air-trafficked than comparable sites in the U.S., with accordingly more rigid procedures despite a relative lack of ATC facilities.

This would be a tough place for the uninitiated to go it alone—thus the appeal of an operation like FlyInn.

Departing into the maelstrom once more, we climbed over Milford Sound and ducked into the relative calm of the Arthur River valley. This impossibly scenic, waterfall-laced, glacier-carved hanging valley, traversed by the famed Milford Track, perfectly frames the 2,000-foot cascade at its head, Sutherland Falls, once thought to be the world’s tallest. It pours from what appeared to be a neat rock-walled thimble of a tarn, Lake Quill.

“Want to fly around it?” asked Matt with a wry grin. He knew I’d think this was a crazy idea, and at first glance I did. “There’s more room than it looks,” Matt said. “Just put out 20 degrees of flaps and slow to 65 knots.”

So I did, and it was absolutely spectacular, one of the neatest things I’ve done in an airplane. Once we completed our circuit, we dove out of the thimble and ZK-TRS buzzed in, and as I watched them my perspective suddenly shifted, revealing the epic scale of the landscape we were exploring. The effect was magical.

I’ve described the memorable first two hours of a weeklong tour in New Zealand, and I think everything we saw could fill a year’s worth of columns. I’ll content myself with two, cramming the balance into next month’s contribution. In the meantime, by the time you read this, my special V1 Rotate video episode, “New Zealand By Air,” should be live on FLYING’s website.

We recorded some 500 gigabytes of footage, much of it spectacular, and editing it down to 15 minutes proved to be a real challenge. There are worse problems to have.

This column first appeared in the March 2024/Issue 946 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Exploring New Zealand’s Grand Islands by Air appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The airstrips defended and nurtured by the Recreational Aviation Foundation have triggered an urgent message to keep them safe. They represent some of our most precious resources—places for pilots to touch down and gather—beyond the physical runways they contain.

Whether a manicured landing lawn in Maryland, or a sandy strip hideaway in Florida, or a desert oasis in New Mexico, or a gravel bar by a lake in Oregon, these points on the map string together the lives and hearts of the RAF volunteers who have kept them up over the past 20 years—building friendships along with the fences and branded fire rings they leave behind.

Founded in 2003, when a handful of aviation friends came together with a shared mission around a campfire at Schafer Meadows airstrip (8U2) in Montana, RAF now stands third-largest among nonprofit aviation associations. And its reach embraces all pilots, as it keeps vital airports and backcountry strips in play—assessed, upgraded, and safe to use. RAF chairman

John McKenna was one of those initial pilots around the campfire, and he recalls their consensus: “This really needs doing, we agreed. We didn’t know what ‘this’ was,” he admits, but they soon discovered the “human capital” raised by the group, though hard to measure adequately, was exactly what was needed to save airstrips.

While not a membership organization per se—there are no annual dues, no codified list of benefits, and no chapters—RAF remains without question driven by the collective efforts of a committed group of folks. More so than a lot of membership associations I’ve given time and money to over the years, in fact. You can donate—in cash or through buying its cool clothing, tools, and other gifts via the website—and/or you can volunteer. That’s it. It’s a simple equation that has added up to a large sum of investment and effort over the past two decades. To date, more than 11,000 pilots and aviation enthusiasts have “joined” the RAF in these ways.

The Last Best Places

Most pilots become involved in the RAF because of other pilots—they hear of friends in the aviation family talking about all the fun they had putting up cabins and transporting goods. For me, my connection happened just like this—resonating especially since I spent a lot of my early flying time in Colorado and have been hiking in the Idaho and Montana mountains since I was a kid, barely able to shoulder a pack. To this day, I’m way more comfortable in hiking boots than high heels—as anyone who has seen me try to walk in the latter will attest.

My first flyout with RAF folks came in the height of the pandemic summer of 2020, when I found myself in Wisconsin in July without an “Oshkosh” at which to spend time with my aviation family.

I called up Wisconsin-based FLYING contributor Jason McDowell, and he put me in touch with Cessna 170 guy and photographer Jim Stevenson and Husky owner and RAF social media ambassador Ross Wilke to flit around a few strips they called home in their backyard northwest of Madison. RAF director Jeff Russell wasn’t around in his hangar at Morey Field (C29) to join us, but our paths would cross in July 2023 when I sat in on his presentation at EAA AirVenture on what it takes to join an RAF work party—or launch one at a worthy field.

My next intersection came in October 2020 with RAF director Steve Taylor, recently retired from Boeing Flight Services and a former colleague of mine. Taylor and his son Finley have made a point of participating in a wide range of RAF service projects together, strengthening their already close bond as Fin has earned his pilot certificate. Taylor and I flew around the San Juan Islands in his Cessna “184-and-a-half”—there are few projects in Washington right now, though the folks there stand ready to assist and do so quite a bit in neighboring states, like Idaho and Montana.

Moose Creek

At the heart of RAF lies the work party, and I really needed to get some mud under the tires in order to understand what this was all about. After amassing a number of texts, schedule changes, and other machinations, FLYING photographer Stephen Yeates and I finally made it to Moose Creek U.S. Forest Service airstrip (1U1) in Idaho for an end-of-season, get-it-in-before-the-snow-flies work project led by Bill McGlynn, current RAF president. Because Moose Creek sits at a relatively low elevation of 2,454 feet msl, it stays open later in the fall than other strips in this part of the Rocky Mountains.

The goal of the party was to begin replacing the couple thousand feet of fence surrounding the corrals and cabins of the oldest USFS ranger station still in operation. Because of its location in the heart of the wilderness, the use of motorized vehicles and other equipment is strictly limited or prohibited, therefore all of the materials for construction and operation of the station must be brought in by pack mule or aircraft.

The USFS has used a Short Sherpa to deliver bulky goods and materials, such as the 10-foot-long rails that make up much of the fencing. But with additional airlift a clear need, Daher stepped up this past summer to support the operations within Idaho—the location of its Kodiak manufacturing facility—and its environs with the use of Kodiak 100s and 900s by RAF pilots.

Nicolas Chabbert, CEO of Daher Kodiak in the U.S. and senior vice president of Daher’s aircraft division, said that the donated aircraft time fit perfectly into both the company’s responsibility to the community, as well as leveraging the single-engine turboprop’s capabilities.

“Our contribution to the Recreational Aviation Foundation is supported by the fact we are in Idaho,” said Chabbert when we caught up at NBAA-BACE in Las Vegas after the mission. “And we are very interested in preserving and conserving these strips—in Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana. We believe that the best way to help is not to just come with a cash contribution, but [with] the use of a Kodiak 100 or Kodiak 900. [The RAF] needs to load and fly in some very basic stuff. It could be a bear box, so that you won’t have any problem at night if you go and camp under the wing of your airplane.”

He also added the Kodiaks could fly in loads of materials to fence the airports—and the people to make that happen.

Hauling It In

For our flight into Moose Creek, we met up with RAF volunteer pilot J.C. Carroll and one of the Kodiak 100s at Daher’s R&D hangar in Sandpoint (KSZT) on a Friday afternoon in mid-October. We had all of our camping and photography gear—plus suits and other finery for the NBAA-BACE show in Vegas we would fly to the following week. Carroll trusted me with the controls for part of our flight over Lake Pend Oreille and the 143 nm south to Idaho County Airport (KGIC). That’s where we picked up our camp cooks, Fred Hebert and Alex Cravener, and much of the food for the next few days, packed in Styrofoam coolers. It made for quite a load, but we were still off the pavement in about one-third of the 5,000-foot runway at Grangeville.

We tracked the drainage of the Selway River up to its confluence with Moose Creek, where the crossing grass runways of the ranger station perch on a shelf over the tumbling waters on either side. Carroll took us overhead for a survey of the site, then lined up for the “new, long” Runway 19 (4,100 feet). Unloading at the apex of the shorter, original 2,300-foot-long runway—first cleared by the Forest Service starting in 1931—we were soon pitching a blaze-orange, six-person Marmot special and blowing up the air mattress that would guarantee a cozy night. After a campfire around a reburning and efficient Solo Stove and a review of the next day’s plan of attack, McGlynn sent us off to get a solid night of sleep in the quietest spot I have bunked down in many moons. Only the predawn calls of a local owl broke the intense silence.

Coffee went on the wood stove early Saturday morning in the cookhouse, and soon after we sorted into ad hoc groups to tackle the work ahead. First came the demolition, with sledges flying, and then we stacked the rotted beams in a bonfire heap to burn later once enough snow lay on the ground to dampen the very real fire danger. Then came the construction, which we soon put into a rhythm, with many hands making quick work of the setting and hammering of nails. In a day, we put up about 600 feet of new fence—and by the close of the project, the group of about 25 volunteers finished 1,300 feet plus odds and ends. They only stopped work because they ran out of materials.

According to McKenna, the USFS folks were surprised that so much had been accomplished. “They can’t believe all this happened,” he told me in early November. But that’s the beauty of the RAF’s collaborative programs with entities such as the Forest Service, Nature Conservancy, and Bureau of Land Management—a committed team of passionate pilots and enthusiasts can get the job done. In a recent note, McGlynn was already “firing everyone up for next year.” The USFS will coordinate next summer’s loads of fence rail to fly in by Sherpa—and the Moose Creek RAF work parties plan to convene in September to complete the roughly 1,450 feet of fencing remaining for that project.

Truly the Sum of Its Hearts

In a recent online newsletter from the RAF, McKenna encapsulated the past 20 years: “Like a long cross-country flight, the RAF has always had a destination in mind. En route, we have had to adjust. Without taking into account the deviation and changes that take place in our magnetic world—just like in the RAF world—we might lose our way. Like magnetic north, the world continues to move, and so has the RAF.”

In every state of the union, there are opportunities for local RAF volunteers to identify airstrips that need attention and the appropriate state, local, and private agencies to engage and partner with to ensure these efforts continue.

Carroll sums up the experience—and why he continues to volunteer with the organization.

“I’ve been a part of the RAF for about six years. In that time I’ve been as far west as the San Juans and as far east as northeastern Maine, as far north as [Upper Peninsula] Michigan and south to Florida. I live in Indiana. I’ve visited many areas in between. The common thread in all of those travels is not the airstrips or the scenery, it’s the people. These are people I want to spend my time with when I can. Everyone I run into at the RAF are bonded by the selfless culture of the organization. We (the RAF) profess this when we go to the backcountry and ask folks to ‘leave it better than you found it.’

“Well, I have to admit I feel that I’m better off after spending time volunteering with RAF than before the event because of the people. Sweat equity amongst my friends that leaves a lasting impact on the backcountry—how does it get much better than that?”

Truly, it doesn’t. Because the one airstrip that happens to touch your soul can connect all of us to aviation— and around that RAF fire ring with each other.

Moose Creek USFS Airstrip (1U1)

From the RAF Airfield Guide, subject to change

Elevation: 2,412 feet msl

Region: North Pacific

State: Idaho

Near: Kooskia, Idaho

Comm: 122.900

Fuel: None

Lat/Long: 46.12453 / -114.92335 46° 7′ 28.32″ / -114° 55′ 24.06″

Variation: 13E (05-14-2018)

Time Zone: UTC-7 (UTC-8 during standard time)

Contact: Nez Perce Forest Air Officer

Address: 104 Airport Road, Grangeville, Idaho, 83530

Phone: 208-983-9571

The Airfield Guide

Like the pocket tool you reach for when you plan to fly, the RAF’s airfield guide comes in handy every time you turn around, it seems.

Once you acknowledge the necessary disclaimers, reminding of the risks and responsibilities inherent whenever we fly, you can access airstrip information through a U.S. map. Chip Gibbons created the guide, and RAF liaisons compiled data for the airfields listed, according to Kodi Myhre, RAF’s director of marketing.

“They find the strips, evaluate the recreational value, and talk with the owner/manager of the strip,” Myhre said. “Arkansas liaison Dave Powell enters the data into the guide.”

Amanda Levin, RAF liaison to the state of Wisconsin, has pitched in her programming skills to expand the guide’s reach as well. It’s another example in the RAF of how many hands help create a great product.

How to Help the RAF

Even if you don’t consider yourself a carpenter or a camp cook, you can find a way to help the RAF with its mission.

• Fly supplies into a strip for a work project.

• Provide camping gear to a team on a project.

• Make baked goods to help feed the workers.

• Donate your time and skill with back office tasks—just ask what the need is.

• Suggest to friends and family that you’d accept a donation to the RAF in lieu of a present for a birthday or other special occasion.

After all, the work serves all of us who fly, whether we make it into the true backcountry or not.

This column first appeared in the December 2023/Issue 944 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Recreational Aviation Foundation Remains the Sum of Its Hearts appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Now I think those folks might have been correct. A recent visit to the Greater Tahoe area confirmed that it held more appeal than I had imagined, beginning with some of the most striking natural views I have experienced.

From the air or ground, the natural splendor of the lake is breathtaking, from its clear, greenish-blue water that changes color with the seasons and more than 70 miles of jagged shoreline to its mountainous surroundings.

My first surprise was how large Lake Tahoe is. One can read about how it straddles a large stretch of the California-Nevada border, spanning roughly 22 miles long and 12 miles wide with a surface area covering 191 square miles, but it appears much larger in person than on paper.

Part of the impressive visual effect is because of the lake’s location high in the Sierra Nevada. Its surface is 6,225 feet msl, and the terrain around it rises thousands of feet above.

Getting There

That terrain is among several factors pilots have to consider when flying into the area, which is dotted with airports whose field elevations fall between 4,400 feet and 6,300 feet. Many piston pilots have a good idea of how operating from such high airports would affect their airplane’s performance. Others might be surprised by the reduced power they are likely to experience, especially when flying normally aspirated aircraft. Density altitude, gusting winds, and weather that often changes quickly can add to the challenge.

Operating at high-elevation fields for the first time warrants additional research and preparation, especially for “flatlanders” not accustomed to mountain flying. High ground around Lake Tahoe and beyond can complicate approaches to certain airports. Well-known peaks in the  area—including Mount Donner at just over 8,000 feet, Mount Pluto at 8,610 feet, and Mount Rose at 10,785 feet—severely restrict maneuvering space and make accurate navigation and situational awareness critical.

The Airport

We visited Truckee-Tahoe Airport (KTRK), which for decades has served as a hub for vacationers and part-time area residents who shuttle between first and second homes. The area is considered a year-round destination for hiking, biking, horseback riding, boating, and watersports during summer, and skiing and other snow sports in the winter. The area is famous for its ski slopes, including Palisades Tahoe, site of the 1960 Winter Olympics.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Truckee-Tahoe RNAV (GPS)-A

The airport is challenging because of its elevation of 5,904 feet and surrounding higher terrain. Pilots must follow prescribed approach and departure paths not only to remain clear of terrain but also to avoid flying over noise-sensitive residential areas. Winds can also be challenging at Truckee-Tahoe.

Jeff Menasco, a former Air Force pilot who is the airport’s director of aviation, said the multiple windsocks positioned around the field often point in different directions at once.

A fatal accident involving a Bombardier Challenger jet in 2021 reinforces the notion that Truckee-Tahoe can be unforgiving.

Demanding and Appealing

Truckee-Tahoe is an inviting airport with a generous parking lot and a bright, airy terminal with lots of space to relax, flight plan, and conduct meetings. The second floor has a balcony overlooking the ramp and runway that is a great place for aircraft watching. There is an adjacent park and playground for families with children—and you might meet several staff members’ dogs during a visit.

The airport makes an effort to help pilots with advisories and tips, including a series of approach and departure videos on its website that demonstrate proper flight paths and point out landmarks, such as the truck weigh station on nearby Interstate 80, Kings Beach at the northern end of the lake, and Brockway Summit, which you have to clear on certain approaches.

• READ MORE: Mackinac Island Is Especially Stunning by Air

On the ramp, turbine pilots will notice that only blended sustainable aviation fuel (SAF) is available. Menasco said the airport wants to take a leadership role in promoting sustainability. As a result, he said, some customers embrace the plan despite SAF’s higher cost. Others decline fuel, preferring to fill up with less-expensive standard jet-A at other airports.

Red Truck, the airport restaurant, draws a substantial nonpilot crowd to supplement fly-in customers. The menu features a range of breakfast and lunch treats that blend Mexican and South Asian influences. We arrived in time for lunch, which included a naan-dog consisting of a quarter-pound brisket frankfurter on a “bun” of naan with house-made mustard, relish, hilbeh, cabbage, and caramelized curried onions. Delicious.

We also ordered the lunch bowl, which combines dal, quinoa, fresh cabbage, fattoush, and a choice of meat or seasonal vegetables. The shaded outdoor dining area was ideal for planespotting and people-watching.

History

While the Truckee-Tahoe Airport got its start in the late 1950s, aviation had been part of the local culture for much longer. During the 1920s the federal airmail service established an intermediate landing field near the current airport. The field, which was 2,000 feet long and 600 feet wide, was part of the service’s airway between Salt Lake City and San Francisco. Instructions to pilots included directions that followed railroads and warnings about tall obstacles.

“On the direct course 10,000 feet will clear the highest peak, but an altitude of 15,000 feet should be maintained,” the instructions read, in part.

• READ MORE: Flying the Finger Lakes Region of New York

By the 1950s, business owners in Truckee were eager to build a new, larger, modern airport to attract more tourists. By 1958 they formed the Truckee Tahoe Airport District (TTAD), elected a board, and sought state and federal funding to build a runway and terminal and buy additional property around the airport. Today, the airport is funded by a number of sources, including aviation fuel sales, aircraft services, hangar leases, and local property taxes.

In 2017, when the control tower opened, the airport boasted 33,580 aircraft operations, made up of 14,978 piston single, 1,145 piston twin, 6,942 turboprop, 4,140 jet, 1,229 helicopter and 5,146 glider. The daily average was 92, though the figure grows significantly during holiday weekends and peak tourist periods in summer and winter. The record stands at 532 ops in one day.

Alternates

Other airports, all nontowered, that serve the Lake Tahoe area include Lake Tahoe Airport (KTVL), Minden-Tahoe (KMEV), Carson City (KCXP), Dayton Valley (A34), and Blue Canyon-Nyack (KBLU).

We arrived at Reno-Tahoe International (KRNO), the area’s Class C commercial hub, on our way to the annual weeklong National Championship Air Races at Reno-Stead Airport (KRTS). With an event as big as the races going on all day and local casinos and restaurants buzzing at night, it is easy for visitors to forget about the region’s other attractions, but there are many. Tahoe is close, well known, and clear in its appeal. But there is more to see in the Reno-Tahoe area. Hotel rooms are hard to find during race week, so we stayed 40 minutes away in Carson City, Nevada’s capital.

The town has developed a young, artistic vibe that we found welcoming. There is plenty of creative food, good coffee, and shopping to keep visitors busy. Carson City is also close to Tahoe and Virginia City, the preserved-in-time Old West town that feels like a scene from 3:10 to Yuma or perhaps High Plains Drifter.

Downtown Reno, where the Truckee River runs through, features shops, restaurants, bars, and large-scale outdoor art. If Las Vegas does not quite work for you, Reno might be your place.

For pilots, the network of airports in and around Reno and Lake Tahoe make the area a singular flying destination.

Truckee-Tahoe Airport (KTRK)

Location: Truckee, California

Airport elevation: 5,904 feet msl

Airspace: Nontowered, Class D

Airport hours: Continuous

Runways: 11/29, 02/20

Lighted: Yes, both runways

Pattern altitude: 7,000 feet msl for light piston aircraft, 7,500 feet msl for turboprops and jets

This column first appeared in the December 2023/Issue 944 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Flying the Truckee-Lake Tahoe Region appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

The good news is that there is a lot to do on Mackinac during the summer. And while there is far less going on during the offseason months, the place becomes a true escape from the daily grind. A handful of hotels and one or two restaurants stay open year-round, and whenever you choose to visit, general aviation is the best way to get there. With our suggestions, you can make your plans for the coming season.

Getting There

I usually make destination flights like this one in Annie, my Commander 114B, but it’s more than 500 nm from my home base at Sussex Airport (KFWN) in northern New Jersey to Mackinac Island Airport (KMCD). Because poor weather on the island and along the route had kept me from flying there earlier, I started looking for a professional pilot familiar with the area to take me there.

A friend recommended Nick Sanderson of Hangar9 Aviation, a Part 135 charter operation based at Padgham Field (K35D) in Allegan, Michigan. Sanderson and his partner, Colin West, have flown passengers to Mackinac many times in their Cessna 414A, so we booked passage with them. Like many vacation trips that involve ferries, travelers typically have to set aside a day at the beginning and end for travel. Even though the ferry ride is fairly short, the island’s remote location near the northern tip of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula and the southern tip of the Upper Peninsula means a long drive to the boat for most people. Those who live a state or two away are ideal candidates for GA, which speeds the trip along considerably.

Driving from Chicago to the island takes about seven hours or more, depending on ferry schedules. Flying there from Chicago Executive Airport (KPWK) would take less than two hours in Annie or less than 90 minutes in the 414A. Part of the driving time is the result of having to get around Lake Michigan in a car or across it in another ferry—but with proper planning you can safely cross the lake easily in a light GA aircraft.

The Airport

Pilots and passengers will enjoy a dramatic approach over Lake Huron to Runway 8/26 at KMCD, but you will not be over water for long, though, because the island’s airport lies just a few miles offshore. You can spot other airports nearby even as you fly the traffic pattern, including Bois Blanc Island (6Y1) 8.1 nm southeast, Mackinac County (83D) 5 nm west northwest, and Cheboygan County 14 nm south.

• READ MORE: Chart Wise: Mackinac Island VOR/DME-A

Views from the air are stunning, especially for September through October, as the foliage is changing colors. The island’s winter semi-hibernation seems to wait until the end of this natural show, which typically forms its last big attraction of the season.

The field is nontowered, with a 3,501-foot runway that is 75 feet wide—same as my home airport. This is not a big challenge, though breezy conditions will generally guarantee that it will not be the easiest landing you make this year. West was flying into a headwind of about 15 knots and probably could have made it with a runway less than half as long. The 414 coasted gently to a turnoff about two-thirds down the strip. A Beechcraft King Air arrived a few minutes after us, but most visitors that day arrived in piston singles. Jets with good short-field performance occasionally stop by, airport staff told us, but we did not see any during our stay. The airport averages 30 operations per day.

Thing to Do

The island is tiny, covering 3.8 square miles, but offers plenty of sights and activities. The downtown area is packed with hotels, restaurants, gift shops and purveyors of fudge, a signature island product. There are also a lot of horse-drawn carriages on the streets, but no cars. They are not allowed. Indeed, M-185, the 8.2-mile road around the island’s perimeter, is said to be the only state highway in the U.S. that forbids motor vehicles. There are, however, 600 horses on the island during peak season, mostly for pulling carriages. Much of the island is covered by Mackinac Island State Park, which means there is a lot of quiet, uncrowded space available, including more than 70 miles of trails in the park that take visitors past caves, rock formations, and cemeteries dating back 200 years.

People like to recite impressive numbers when talking about the island, from the 500 year-round residents, 1,489 bicycles for rent, and 24 restaurants with outdoor seating to the famous Grand Hotel’s 660-foot front porch, which they say is the longest in the world. There are also between 120 and 140 geocaches hidden on the island for modern sleuths to find.

History

The island was a sacred place for Indigenous peoples long before European colonists arrived, particularly for the Anishinaabek (Odawa, Ojibway, and Potawatomi). Mackinac became a bone of contention between U.S. and British forces during the War of 1812, when British, Canadian, and Native American soldiers captured Fort Mackinac from the small garrison based there. The taking of Mackinac was among the first engagements of the war and began more than two years of fighting between the U.S. and Britain for control of Michigan and the Great Lakes. Both sides sought control of the Great Lakes fur trade, and the conflict came to a head in 1814 when seven U.S. warships and about 1,000 soldiers arrived on a mission to recapture the island. They clashed with British forces on August 4, in a battle that the U.S. lost. It took the Treaty of Ghent to return peace to Mackinac, with U.S. soldiers taking possession of Fort Mackinac in July 1815.

You might wonder why cars are forbidden here. When the auto industry started in the late 1800s, horse-drawn carriages were the standard for transport on the island and had been operating there for decades. They also played a part in the island’s transformation to a destination and, for many, reflected the unique culture. As cars gained popularity among the well-to-do families that could afford them, they also began to roll off ferries onto the island. Carriage operators petitioned local officials to prohibit what they called the “dangerous horseless carriages” that frightened their horses and fouled the air. The village enacted a ban on cars in 1898. Today the lack of cars makes the island different and a true escape from the noise, congestion, and pace of everyday life.

Aircraft, on the other hand, have become key to island commerce. Many would hesitate to visit without the option of flying, and air tours are also a popular attraction. Airplanes might be most important in the cold months: When the lake freezes and Mackinac becomes what some consider a true winter wonderland, an airplane might be the only way to get there.

CODA: Be Weather Mindful

Rapidly changing weather is always a consideration when flying in Michigan and the surrounding area. While I thoroughly enjoyed my time, I knew I could not rely on forecasts. Flight planning in this area means picking more alternates than usual, as our return would prove. About halfway through the flight to Allegan, the broken cloud layers converged from about 3,000 feet to above 10,000.

It was not nighttime yet, but the skies darkened enough that I could look through the engine cover vents and see the orange glow of turbochargers on the 414’s Continental TSIO-520s. The situation became increasingly dramatic as the sounds of rain, then freezing rain followed by hail rang through the cabin. The airplane felt solid, Sanderson and West were cool and professional, but there was absolutely no reason to stay in that storm.

We diverted to West Michigan Regional (KBIV) in Holland. Safely on the ground, we heard support for the decision to divert in the form of extremely heavy rain pounding the FBO roof. Lightning flashed. More aircraft arrived on the ramp, fleeing the deluge. Pilots and passengers entered the FBO, jackets drenched from the short walk.

The scene made a great case for ride-sharing. We called Uber for the 30-minute final leg to Allegan.

Mackinac Island Airport (KMCD)

Location: Mackinac Island, Michigan

Airport elevation: 729 ft. msl

Airspace: Nontowered, Class E/G

Runways: 8/26, 3,501 ft.

Lighted: Yes, no fuel

Pattern altitude: 1,900 ft. msl

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Mackinac Island Is Especially Stunning by Air appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I first learned of Rocco from a video posted on a website called “Lucky Lab Rescue.” He looked like the lab mix he was reported to be. Tellingly, he had no “bio.” Usually dogs up for adoption have been fostered and their traits have been cataloged. “Needs lots of space to run” and “not good with children” are a couple of red flags. Rocco had none. He was cute, if a little “mouthy,” on the 20-second video, so my wife, Cathy, and I arranged to have him join a caravan of dogs being shipped from the Midwest to the good folks of New England. Apparently, there is a well-worn path for dogs abandoned at kill shelters to adoption facilities in the Northeast.

We have had excellent luck with labs and lab mixes. We knew Rocco first showed up in a kill shelter in Kentucky and was transferred to a veterinary technical school in Indiana. From the paperwork that accompanied him, we found that he had been used for students to practice putting him under anesthesia and drawing his blood. I’m thinking that might give a fellow an attitude.

It did. Surprisingly, his animosity is not toward humans but dogs. It took several surprise attacks against friends’ and neighborhood dogs before we learned to keep him separated from all canines. His vet hospital and human emergency department visit bills topped 10 grand before we got the picture. We spent similar amounts on dog training with the graduation certificates as proof.

“Why don’t you put him down?” We heard this a lot. There was one problem: We were falling in love. With the kids, grandkids, furnace repair guy, and the pest man, he was an enthusiastic lab love. Our vet said, “I will not put a dog down for dog aggression. Your job is to keep him safe.” That sealed it.

Rocco’s first flight and first airplane was in our 1980 Piper Cheyenne I. He acted like it was natural to scurry up the airstairs and to make himself comfortable in an empty seat. When that became uncomfortable, he’d come forward, put his front paws on the wing spar, and peer into the flight deck with a bemused expression. “Can’t this thing go any faster?” he seemed to say. He’d stare in hypnotic trance at the blinking reply light on the transponder.

It wasn’t long before we decided to buy a jet. Three years of Part 135 flying had finally taught me how, and I felt comfortable with single-pilot jet ops. We bought a Raytheon Premier 1. With its magnificent height, imposing airstairs, and lavish interior, not to mention Pro Line 21 avionics, I was in heaven.

Apparently, so was Rocco. It gradually dawned on us that perhaps this dog had been fibbing about his background. He climbed into the Premier and looked around as if to say, “This is all you got?” I wondered if he’d actually belonged to a family with a Gulfstream. We sent off his DNA to see if he was related to a Rockefeller, but no joy.

Still, he got awfully cozy awfully quickly, though he seemed to look askance at the ornate gold fixtures—not the kind of thing a well-bred dog would accept for haute couture.

• READ MORE: Rescue Dogs and Airplanes

When an errant pelican commuting at 4,500 feet dinged the wing, we sought the comfort of a Cessna Citation CJ1. Not quite as fast as the Premier, but never as maintenance needy, the airplane fit like a glove. Rocco claimed a seat, which we protected with a sheet. There was no question this was a smaller seat than the one to which he had been accustomed, but he took the indignity like a lab. He logged hundreds of trouble-free hours curled up in a ball and ready to party when he arrived.

Alas, my abilities as a dog aircraft provider atrophied with age, and we had to sell the CJ1 owing to insurance costs for “elderly” single-pilot jet ops. Looking to be “unleashed” myself from the aerospace medical boys and girls in Oklahoma City, I chose BasicMed. This led to a fine Beechcraft P-Baron.

And guess what? This is the most comfortable airplane for Rocco. He leaps easily into the back cabin, and the rear seats are so close together that he now effectively has a bench seat. This allows uninterrupted sleep for hours and hours. Rocco is good at this. It’s one of his finest skills. This is a good thing as his commute has become longer and regularly features a tech stop. At such interruptions, he parades around the FBO while Cathy and I keep an eye out for some unsuspecting fellow dog traveler.

We’d hate for him to have a rap sheet in another state. His countenance at the high-end FBOs could be best described as expectant. Just don’t let him spot a Chihuahua with a rhinestone collar—the fur will fly. So far, so good, though—just a dog and his airplane in harmony.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Master of Airplanes: Rocco Is One Lucky Lab, Indeed appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Having never departed the UPS ramp, we shut down the three engines that had just been started. We waited for the just-out-of-college loading supervisor with the clipboard and stopwatch to climb up the portable airstairs/scaffolding.

The captain was incredulous that the young man had to be convinced of the fact our flight couldn’t just get off the highway at another exit without replanning and recalculating. (Jackson, Jacksonville…same thing, apparently.) My employer at the time was Evergreen International Airlines, one of the contract carriers flying UPS freight when the shipping company was in its aviation infancy.

So when my wife expressed an interest in flying our airplane to Louisville for a Kentucky Bourbon Trail tour, the above described 40-year-old memory evoked a snicker and a smile. I had survived that employment and gained invaluable experience that assisted in launching an enviable career with my dream airline. My only exposure to Louisville had been a nearby Holiday Inn and a pilot operations trailer on the UPS ramp in the darkness of night.

Our excursion more recently began with a visit to Greenwood, South Carolina (KGRD). The group of pilots and their wives who had conquered Iceland the year prior converged on Mike and Christa’s new lake house for a few days of water fun. We departed from separate Florida airports in separate airplanes with the goal of arriving at the same time. And thus began the process of threading the decision needle.

With Florida’s typical August spawning convective weather by early afternoon, it didn’t take much convincing that a morning departure was mandatory. Although my friend, Scott Roze, a retired colleague, wanted to coordinate departures in his Piper Dakota so that my wife and I arrived at KGRD via our Piper Arrow at the same time, it wasn’t one of my concerns.

Fortunately, Scott gathered his group for an earlier-than-planned wheels-up time that allowed them to avoid a band of convective weather rolling through the Jacksonville area. Despite his thousands of hours in all types of airplanes, Scott considers the Dakota and himself a VFR-only operation. Since retiring from the airline, he hasn’t maintained instrument proficiency to his satisfaction. Although I chide him about being a “Boy Scout” for following rules, I respect and admire him.

After our lake visit, my wife and I departed Greenwood for Louisville’s Bowman Field (KLOU). The 2-hour, 15-minute flight seemed simple enough for planning a direct routing, but a closer look revealed the Great Smoky Mountains as a terrain threat. Although the maximum sector elevation was 7,000 feet, it would be bad marital policy to subject my wife to potential orographic turbulence. To avoid such pain, I filed for a jog in the route farther to the south, nearer the lower elevations of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

In my former life, the mountains in South America, Latin America, and the U.S. required us to be situationally aware and vigilant of the terrain threat. In addition to our training, the airline designated certain areas of the world with specific alternate routing over mountainous terrain for an emergency or depressurization event.

Specific terrain-affected airports were also designated, requiring us to review idiosyncrasies in procedures, arrivals, and departures prior to our trip. In addition, some airports required a check airman to be on a captain’s initial flight. A 90-day currency was also a requirement. Tegucigalpa (MHTG) in Honduras is a good example.

Fortunately, our trek across the Smokies was accomplished with nary a bump. Aside from a handful of vectors through some cumulus attempting to go nimbus, our late morning arrival into Bowman Field was seamless. As fate would have it, the Uber driver was a flight instructor and airplane owner who had been encouraging his son to fulfill his airline pilot aspirations.

We kicked off the Kentucky Bourbon Trail with a tour of the Angel’s Envy Distillery, an easy walk from our boutique hotel. The tour became a valuable template for the remainder of the trip, imparting to us the necessary skill to properly taste bourbon.

It would have been un-American to not visit the racetrack at Churchill Downs, or not to tour the city, so we accomplished both the following day. After the Louisville visit and a couple more distillery tours, the next day’s plan was to return our rental car and fly 15 minutes to Bardstown, Kentucky (KBRY), where numerous distilleries and much cheaper 100LL was located.

Mother Nature decided to play her own cards with a line of convective weather. Although beating the thunderstorms was not out of the question, it seemed the right time for discretion to be the better part of valor. Keeping the rental car, we humbled ourselves with a 40-minute drive to Bardstown.

• READ MORE: So, You Can Actually Fly to Lunch?

Maintaining the long-standing tradition of cheap airline pilot, I awoke just before dawn and returned the rental car to Louisville. With thanks to my new friends at Bowman’s Executive Aviation, the Arrow was rolled out of a hangar for my short trip to Bardstown. I arrived through a thin, translucent cloud layer, reflecting later that maybe the RNAV (GPS) approach should have been requested despite the field technically reporting VFR conditions.

Tom, the affable Bardstown airport manager, greeted me with fueling assistance and our new rental car delivered right to the airplane at the tie-down spot. My wife had claimed never to have set foot in Kentucky, but we simultaneously had a déjà vu moment after entering a local restaurant for lunch. A later glance in the airplane logbook revealed a KBRY entry. Apparently, we had made a fuel/lunch stop at the airport six years ago when we brought the airplane home from Amarillo, Texas, shortly after its purchase.

After three days of touring the town and distilleries, we departed for home at sunrise in order to beat the usual Florida convective weather in the afternoon. Despite the capability to complete a four-hour flight with full wing tanks, my abundance of caution and our personal bladders don’t allow for such an operation. As it was, we had to thread the needle around a thin line of building convective weather that ForeFlight had displayed before departure. The technique of “looking into the light” got us through the line without a bump.

Aside from the typical frequency congestion through the Jacksonville area and the usual dive from the last assigned altitude, we arrived at Flagler, Florida (KFIN), no worse for the wear. It was a fun challenge to thread the decision needle, notwithstanding great memories and a newly stocked liquor closet.

This column first appeared in the November 2023/Issue 943 of FLYING’s print edition.

The post Kentucky Bourbon Trail Proves Worthy of a Flying Adventure appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

But today I’m finally taking a day off. I’ve had an ultra-productive week, I’ll be flying for work tomorrow, and Dawn just headed to her parents’ place in South Dakota. It’s just me and my flying pooch, Piper, living the bachelor life. It’s time for a playdate to go explore those Cascade mountain strips I’ve been eyeing from high above on the CHINS5 and GLASR2 arrivals. This would ideally be done in the cool, still air of morning, but I got waylaid by another project, and it’s after noon by the time Piper and I finally depart and turn northeast. It’s not a terribly hot day, though, and we’re light, and the highest airstrip is at only 3,000 feet in elevation. The puffy cumulus over the Cascades aren’t looking too threatening—yet.

I skirt south of Paine Field (KPAE) and enter the mountains via the dramatic Skykomish River valley, with 6,000-foot peaks towering over both sides. Fifteen miles in, the town of Skykomish appears around a bend along with our first destination, Skykomish State Airport (S88): 2,000 feet of turf runway, 1,002 feet elevation, trees on both ends. The left pattern to Runway 24 makes for a tight downwind along the southern ridge and close by a granite outcropping before turning a blind base. Turning final, the runway appears again out of the trees, and I ease down a groove and land on the grass. With just Piper and I and partial fuel, I easily turn off at midfield without getting on the brakes.

Piper is a much less anxious flyer these days, but he’s still always glad to clamber out of the airplane and run his little heart out. The airport is deserted today, so I let him wander off leash while I take a look at the picnic tables and camping spots. The field is ideally set up for group camping by an EAA chapter or a gaggle of friends. The guest book reveals mostly old taildraggers like mine, the most recent some 10 days ago. There’s no reason you couldn’t take a Cessna 172 in here easily if you kept it light, but alas, many flight schools and FBOs in the area now prohibit landing at unpaved airports.

After a quick lunch, Piper and I load up again, start up, and take off on Runway 24. I fly a mile beyond town and then turn around in a wide part of the valley, climbing steeply to have plenty of altitude before approaching 4,056-foot Stevens Pass. I see the alpine lake to which Dawn and I snowshoed last winter and turn north to cross a 5,000-foot ridge into the Rainy Creek watershed. I follow it down to beautiful Lake Wenatchee and the Lake Wenatchee State Airport (27W), elevation 1,936 feet msl. As I approach, I can see the middle half of the 2,473-foot runway appears to be bare dirt and decide to do an inspection pass down Runway 9. I don’t see any big rocks, but on the next approach I touch down right at the threshold to get slow before the bare patch. Even at reduced speed, we bounce around a lot, and I can hear stones hitting the underside of the fuselage. Maybe I ought to have landed beyond the dirt—there was a good 1,000 feet of grass left. Soon after we arrive, a Cessna 182 buzzes the dusty strip and peels off into the left downwind. I film his landing, which is a dramatic plop right in the middle of the rocky zone. The hardy Skylane seems no worse for wear, and I’m soon talking to Bryce from Las Vegas. He’s flown all the way here for the Touratech Rally for adventure motorcyclists in nearby Plain, Washington. We talk dirt bikes for a bit before I eye the skies and decide it’s time to go. Those cumulus have built a good bit. They’re not ugly enough to chase us out of the mountains just yet, but Piper and I should get moving.

I purposely came into the mountains with partial gas, necessitating a fuel stop at Wenatchee’s Pangborn Memorial Airport (KEAT). From there, we climb out over Mission Ridge, dodging rain shafts. My Stratus ADS-B receiver shows some strong precipitation northeast of Mount Rainier and over the Goat Rocks Wilderness, but so far it’s staying clear of our next destination. Passing Cle Elum, Snoqualmie Pass looks very doable—that’s my backup option. As I work my way southwest, though, the weather holds. Crossing Bethel Ridge, I marvel at a fantastic ridgetop trail and file it away for a ride on my KTM dirt bike. From there, it’s a fast drop into the Tieton River valley, where Tieton State Airport (4S6, elevation 2,964 feet msl) is nestled on the shore of Rimrock Lake.

In late summer, Tieton State becomes a busy Forest Service firebase, but for now it’s quiet. The vertiginous dome of appropriately named Goose Egg Mountain lies just off the north end, making this a mostly one-way-in, one-way-out airport. The wind is nearly calm. I fly out over the lake, make a spiraling descent, and set up a dogleg approach to 2,509-foot Runway 2. There’s a decent bug-out option to the left down to about 150 feet, but below that you wouldn’t want to go around without a good bit of power. This time, speed and glide path are right on target, so I continue over the shoreline and make a wheel landing on the grass. Overall the strip is in great shape.

Tieton looks like a fantastic place to airplane camp. There’s plenty of shady parking alongside the strip, an indoor pit toilet, and nice views over the lake and mountains. It’s a short walk to the beach, where Piper frolics in the sand. For a minute, he’s a young pup on Windbird again. But now it’s 5 p.m., and those overdeveloped cumulus are getting a lot closer. I can see rain shafts cutting across the far side of the lake. Our playdate is almost over. The hourlong flight home will take us up and over White Pass, past Mount Rainier via the Skate Creek and Nisqually River drainages, and thence via Puyallup and the Tacoma Narrows. As a young pilot, this would have been a grand adventure, and now it’s all part of my backyard.

My 20th wedding anniversary is coming up, and while we’re celebrating with a monthlong trip to New Zealand later in the year, we didn’t have plans for the big day itself. When I asked Dawn what she’d like to do, she said airplane camping in the mountains. I think Tieton State Airport will be a great place to base ourselves for a few days of exploration. I’m a very lucky guy.

This column first appeared in the September 2023/Issue 941 of FLYING’s print edition.

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Would the Wrights be amazed by how far we have come or surprised that more people are not involved in general aviation? Surely the latest avionics would blow their minds. We will never know, but what is almost certain is that they would have a hard time recognizing Kill Devil Hills, the North Carolina town where they made their first powered flight.

They picked the location in part because of its strong winds, which they figured would increase the lift their machine needed to get airborne. Good call. They also liked the sandy waterfront surroundings that could soften hard landings. Perhaps the most important factor that made the area ideal for test flights was its isolation. There was barely anyone around the greater Outer Banks area, which then included neighboring beach towns Kitty Hawk and Nags Head. The brothers felt the sparse population lessened the likelihood of rival aviators learning their secrets.

Today, however, the area is a destination for thousands of vacationers and tourists, especially this time of year. Their remote airfield is now a national park where many come to see the spot where the first flight took place, walk along the Wright Flyer’s actual path, and learn more about the Wrights’ story.

Getting There

We flew the 315 nm to First Flight Airport (KFFA) from Sussex, New Jersey (KFWN), and though weather forecasts and AWOS reports called for clear skies, smoke from wildfires in Canada made conditions murky for much of the trip. Cruising at 6,500 feet msl in Annie, our Commander 114B, we could always see the ground, but scanning the horizon gave the sense of flying VFR above a solid cloud layer. Spotting traffic was more difficult, and we found ourselves checking often to make sure the surface was still visible. The smoke also hid actual clouds, some of them fairly large, that we had to dodge to remain VFR.

As we headed roughly south by west, we set a course for Norfolk (KORF) in Virginia, which is northwest of First Flight, in order to spend less time over the ocean and avoid MOAs and other restricted military airspace. We initiated ATC contact soon after our departure from Sussex with Philadelphia Approach and continued with radar service until we were ready to descend to our destination. With so much commercial, private, and military air traffic along the Atlantic shore, maintaining contact with ATC provided an extra measure of safety and conflict avoidance. One of several blocks of military airspace was active, so we diverted slightly to stay clear.

The Airport

The barrier islands known as the Outer Banks, which now include the town of Kill Devil Hills, form an offshore strip of land that, to pilots on approach to First Flight, might seem too narrow to possibly accommodate an airport. As you fly within a mile or two, it becomes clear the islands are larger than you might have thought but still not especially large. Indeed, as Runway 3/21 comes into sight on the edge of the Wright Brothers Memorial, the park’s green lawns and forests appear to cover a larger area than neighboring Nags Head.

The runway, which is 3,000 feet long and 60 feet wide, is not what many GA pilots would consider short; however, pilots need to keep track of density altitude—especially during the warmer months—to avoid tense moments while climbing over trees and power lines just beyond the departure end of Runway 3. Near the ramp there is a small building housing restrooms and a pilot room—not quite a lounge—with a visitors’ sign-in book, desktop computer for filing a flight plan, and screens with updated weather and other airport information.

Air traffic around Kill Devil Hills has picked up significantly in the 120 years since the Wrights’ landmark flight. The Wright Brothers National Memorial property includes First Flight Airport, which can get busy on weekends. We arrived on a Friday afternoon to find the field fairly quiet with one other aircraft tied down on the ramp. The following morning the total had reached nine, with the sounds of engines carrying across the park as a variety of aircraft—from a modern high-wing Tecnam light sport to a vintage Beechcraft Travel Air—arrived and departed regularly.

While some area restaurants and hotels, like the Travelodge where we spent the night, appear on maps to be within walking distance—right across the road from the memorial—you have to remember that the park is vast and the airport is on the far side, at least a couple of miles from town. On a typically hot summer afternoon, you will want a ride. On-demand car service is available, and drivers are familiar with the airport parking lot. Myself, FLYING photographer Stephen Yeates, and my two 50-pound dogs (we could not find a sitter on short notice) had no trouble getting a lift to our pet-friendly hotel.

The Memorial

The Wright Brothers Memorial is striking. Perched on a hill with dramatic views, it reminds us that the brothers relied on common-sense trial and error to get airborne and that they must have been determined, brave, and smart to find a successful formula for controlled powered flight and to survive the process.

Visitors can see the launch point for the first flight and walk the distances, marked with large stones, flown during the initial short hop and subsequent longer flights. There is a model of the original Wright Flyer inside the park’s visitor center and nearby, in their original positions, stand replicas of the hangar and camp building the brothers used during their stay at Kill Devil Hills.

Near the base of the memorial hill are life-size sculptures of the Wrights’ aircraft taking off, with Orville at the controls and a few spectators. A woman working at the front desk of our hotel told us to look for the barefoot boy watching the airplane take off. The statue depicts Johnny Moore, who skipped school that day to help the Wrights prepare and to watch their attempt. After the flight, he ran to the telegraph office to relay the news that the flight was successful. Moore was a distant cousin to her, the woman said.

The Towns

While Kitty Hawk and Kill Devil Hills draw aviation enthusiasts, these days Nags Head is the main destination for most visitors. The beach town has a laid-back party vibe that makes it a summer tradition for many families who rent beach houses and condos along the main shore road.

A range of restaurants, bars, amusements, and fishing piers help keep vacationers entertained while historic sites such as the Bodie Island Lighthouse confirm there is more to the area’s history than aviation.

While there is a lot to do in Nags Head and surrounding Outer Banks towns, the beach, with its signature large dunes, is where most people come to spend time. I grew up in New Jersey, spending summers on the Jersey Shore during the 1970s and 1980s. During recent trips the shore seems to have become fancier while losing some of the fast and loose appeal it held when I was a teenager. You can call it nostalgia, but Nags Head reminds me of the beach towns I loved as a kid—not fancy, just fun.

• READ MORE: Finding Wilbur Wright on the Wabash

We’ll Be Back

As with many destinations we write about, I left wanting to spend a little more time in the greater Kill Devil Hills area. I would love to return sometime soon with my family, though our teenage sons are often too busy to be pinned down with their parents. Perhaps my wife and I will fly down and explore the Outer Banks more extensively and find a beach town minus the bumper cars and miniature golf. Historic Ocracoke Island, about 50 nm south, has been on our traveling wish list for a long time.

This column first appeared in the August 2023/Issue 940 print edition of FLYING.

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