But on a late-afternoon flight through the Wisconsin countryside last week, it did cross my mind.

It’s not that I didn’t have permission to land at the private grass strip. It’s that Shane, the person who granted me permission to land there, wasn’t technically the owner. And while I was somewhat confident his permission was sufficient, I knew it probably wouldn’t hold up in court.

I first met Shane at a fundraising event hosted by the Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame, a nonprofit dedicated to collecting and preserving the state’s aviation history. They were unveiling a new collection of 34,000 historic photographs being put on public display. These never-before-seen images are a true treasure trove, and I’ll be featuring some of the more notable finds in future installments of History’s Unique Aircraft.

• READ MORE: Wisconsin Aviation Hall of Fame Launches Photo Digitization Campaign

Shane and I started chatting, and I learned that he is the president of the local Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) chapter. We began discussing some of the lesser-known private airfields in the area. I mentioned how I’d always wanted to fly into one particularly nice-looking one east of Madison called Der Schwarzwald Airport (5WI3) but hadn’t yet reached out to the owner to ask for permission. 

Turning to face me directly, Shane then bowed his head and ceremoniously touched the edge of his hand to each of my shoulders, one after the other. “I hereby anoint you an officially approved visitor to Der Schwarzwald,” he said. As it turned out, he was friends with one of the owners of the airfield, and I was now welcome to drop in anytime.

I thanked him and repeated the ritual for him, granting permission to visit my private home airfield anytime. With the formalities, such as they were, out of the way, we continued our chat about exploring the area and enjoyed the rest of the event before parting ways and heading home. 

A few weeks later, on a picture-perfect Sunday with ample sun and not even the slightest puff of wind, I decided to go check out Der Schwarzwald for the first time. It occurred to me that I could, out of an abundance of caution, give Steve a call to confirm I still had permission to do so. It also occurred to me that I could look up the registered owner of the airfield on airnav.com and check in with them, as well.

But it was a beautiful afternoon, and I didn’t want to spend it on the phone. 

Before long, I was trundling over to the airfield, throttled back to around 90 mph with the windows open and enjoying one of the last looks at Wisconsin’s lush greenery. In only a matter of weeks, the crops would be cut down, and the carpet of emerald foliage would explode into fiery autumn colors.

• READ MORE: That Time When WACO Designers Went a Little Crazy

No matter how pleasant the weather might always be in places like San Diego, the ever-present anticipation of the changing environment and emerging seasons around the Great Lakes might be even more enviable. 

As I approached the unfamiliar airfield, I got down to business. Shane said there were no unique characteristics or hazards with which one should be concerned, only mentioning an incline on one end of the runway. Still, I was on high alert, watching for any radio towers as well as for any traffic. There was, after all, no published common traffic advisory frequency (CTAF) to use, and folks in those parts often flew airplanes without electrical systems, radios, or ADS-B. 

I overflew the field and entered a left downwind for Runway 4, making a note of the completely limp windsock. When I was abeam my touchdown point, I spotted three individuals walking around one of the hangars at the end of the runway. An early, straight-tail 172 sat outside of the hangar. 

When they stopped walking and peered upward, shielding their eyes to get a better look at me, I wondered whether Shane had passed on the news of my invite. And just like the discomfort one might sense when walking uninvited up someone’s driveway and into their backyard, I began to feel like an unwelcome intruder. With any luck, I thought, they’d be friendly, and bail money wouldn’t be necessary at all.

• READ MORE: 5 of the Best Pieces of Gear for Epic Underwing Camping

I reduced my throttle to just above idle, making a fairly short, constant turn from downwind to final. Thanks to the 170B’s 40-degree flap setting, it’s fairly easy to do so in a stable manner while allowing the airspeed to bleed down to the 60 mph short-field approach speed recommended by the book. 

Rolling out on short final, I saw what Shane was talking about when he referred to the incline. Sure enough, the first 500 feet of Runway 4 was, from my perspective, a rather steep uphill grade. This had the effect of making the rest of the runway a plateau, and I quickly added power, readjusting my aiming point to a position beyond the crest of the hill. 

With close to 3,000 feet to play with, it was no big deal at all, and the lack of wind helped me to execute a wheel landing that made it appear as though I knew what I was doing. Taxiing back to the hangar, the individuals I had spotted from the air were there waiting.

Fortunately, they were all smiles. And unarmed.

• READ MORE: The Unusual Evolution of the Fairchild C-123 Provider

As it turned out, one of them was someone I had once met. His name was Al, and in addition to being one of the owners of the airfield, he was also the owner of an extraordinarily rare airplane, a Wing Derringer. Back in 2015, I spotted it on a flight tracking website, stalked him via the FAA database, and cold-called him to ask permission to photograph it. He happily agreed to meet for a photo shoot at the large regional airport in the area, and after using the shots for a History’s Unique Aircraft article, I sent him a few prints as thanks.

Al and his companions were just as welcoming as can be. They promptly provided me with a tour of the hangar and also of Al’s office, where one of my Derringer prints was proudly on display. His office walls were decorated in his own painted art, recollecting his time spent maintaining F-105 Thunderchiefs for the Air Force. The big windows offered a panoramic view of the runway. The place was idyllic—a little slice of heaven, peaceful, utterly silent, and smelling of freshly cut grass.

• READ MORE: When Unforeseen Circumstances Threaten to Derail Amazing Experiences

It was an enjoyable visit spent reminiscing about airplanes, friends, and events from the past. Al and the others spun tales from the airfield’s history, recalling how one of them used to keep a Mooney in one of the hangars and how they used to host formal get-togethers more frequently back then. They also provided some valuable local lore, like how the odd mechanical turbulence that results from easterly winds can create some concerning moments during takeoff for the unsuspecting pilot.

With the sun sinking ever lower on the horizon, I signaled the beginning of my departure with the standard, Upper-Midwestern, “Well, I suppose…” The residents reassured me that I was always welcome to stop by. A few minutes later, as I climbed out after takeoff, a glance downward revealed a flurry of enthusiastic, full-arm waves from alongside the runway, bidding me goodbye.

No complaints. No scolding. And certainly no bail money. It was about as good as an unannounced landing at someone’s private airfield could be.

The post Unannounced Landings and the Need for Bail Money appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

And while I have, over the years, become adept at coping with such challenges like an adult, the exasperation I recently felt when fighting the sheet metal screws that secure my engine cowling in place on an otherwise beautiful day truly tested me.

It’s not that the engine cowling is complicated. On the contrary, it’s simply two very lightweight aluminum shells that fasten to the airplane with an assortment of various screws. To remove the cowling, one simply unscrews each of them, and each half can then be gently lifted away from the airplane. To reinstall the cowling, the process is reversed. Should be no big deal.

When hobbled by a near-complete lack of mechanical ability, however, things become a bit more complex. 

It’s my own fault. Growing up, my focus was on the piles of books and magazines that littered my room, and any opportunity to patiently focus on learning basic mechanical skills outside or in the garage tended to be quickly tossed aside in favor of more time reading FLYING or Car and Driver magazines.

Accordingly, my mechanical ability became—and remains—somewhat stunted. 

On the day in question, I was attempting to reinstall the engine cowling, and those sheet metal screws were fighting me every step of the way. Some weren’t long enough for the threads to take hold. Others spun in place, refusing to tighten like the threads were stripped. Still others seemingly hit a stop after a few turns, stubbornly refusing to tighten at all.

It was infuriating, and I was getting to the point where I would have to surrender altogether and beg my mechanic to come save the day.

That’s when I remembered one of the single greatest features of my airplane—the friendly, seven-day-a-week support and knowledge hotline, otherwise known as Dick, the airplane’s former owner.

Dick and I keep in touch pretty regularly. Having purchased the airplane from his friend some 40 years ago, he has over half a century of familiarity with it. When the time came to hang things up and sell it to me, I could tell it was difficult for him to say goodbye to his trusty friend. 

To help ease the pain, I promised to give him a call from time to time to update him on things. Since then, we’ve talked every couple of months. Our chats typically last an hour or more, the seesaw of conversation tipping back and forth between his experiences with the airplane in the past and my learning curve in the present. 

Despite having sold it to me, he continues to harbor a deep sense of ownership for the 170.

Once, when I mentioned that the engine had developed a small oil leak, his reaction was one of shock and deep offense. He could hardly believe that the engine he had taken care of so well had the audacity to misbehave in such a manner, and he wanted answers. Fortunately, fixing the leak was a simple matter of replacing a crush washer, and all was well.

Time and time again, Dick has demonstrated how he’s a walking encyclopedia of 1953 Cessna 170B, serial number 26053.

Right-side fuel drain acting up? Ah, yes, he recalled, he replaced that one back in ’85, so it’s probably due. Brake rotors looking kind of thin? Well, even though he’s only really ever used them to help steer on the ground, they’ve been on there since the Carter administration.

So when the profanity subsided during the Engine Cowl Screw Incident of Summer 2024, I caught my breath, wiped the sweat from my brow, and decided to call my lifeline for help. It didn’t take long for Dick’s friendly, easy-going manner to bring me back down to earth.

And as usual, he managed to explain things in a way that made me feel smarter than I am.

First, he had me spread all the screws out in a big container. Then, he began to point some things out. See how there are a few screws that are shorter in length? Those go up front by the left intake to better clear the forward left valve cover where there’s virtually no clearance. 

Oh, yeah. I guess those must have been the ones that weren’t biting or tightening down in other places. 

Notice how the thread pitch is slightly different on a handful of them? Back in 1983, he converted the forward sheet metal screws and Tinnermans to machine screws and floating nut plates. This provides a more secure attachment up at the front of the cowl for safety.

Oh, yeah—those threads are indeed a little different. That would explain why I was unable to thread so many of them into place. 

Dick methodically and clearly educated me on these finer points of the airplane, effectively talking me down from the ledge of incompetence and helping me to understand yet another mechanical aspect that had, up until that point, completely eluded me.

We chatted for a while longer, talking about flying, sharing some laughs, and updating each other on the latest happenings in our lives. 

It occurs to me that among all the criteria one must consider when evaluating various airplanes to purchase, the friendship and support from a previous owner is one factor that is completely unaccounted for.

Classified ads don’t include the previous owner’s demeanor or friendliness. There’s no way to evaluate whether that person would be willing to help out with information or advice in the future or, indeed, whether they are even the kind of person with whom you’d like to stay in touch at all. 

Perhaps it’s for the best. Because if such an evaluation system were in place and widely used, Dick would have increased the value of my airplane to a level well beyond my financial capability—and I’d never have been able to buy it to begin with.

The post Life Lessons and Surviving a Fight With Sheet Metal Screws appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

When I first visited in 1998 or so, my mind boggled at the incredible variety of flying rarities on display, and with my cheap film camera in hand, I pursued them all with ferocity. Now, having stalked and captured the most intriguing specimens—and having met new friends every year—AirVenture has become an annual reunion of some of my favorite people in the world.

Historically, I’d spend the week wandering around the grounds, either encountering friends entirely by chance or by arranging various meeting times and locations (1 p.m. in the shade beneath the Piaggio Royal Gull, for example). But now, with an airplane of my own, everything has changed.

Namely, I now make a point to create my very own underwing patio. A gathering place with cool shade, comfy chairs, ice-cold drinks, and pleasant company. Having set up and hosted such meeting spots for three years, I believe I’ve discovered some of the most crucial elements. 

Nemo Stargaze Reclining Camp Chair ($250)

When it comes to items that separate you from the ground, I believe it’s well worth spending a premium for the good stuff. Tires, mattresses, shoes, rock-climbing rope, and parachutes come to mind. This is a category where the cheapest options can create experiences that are miserable at best or disastrous at worst.

In the world of folding chairs, it seems quality is proportional to cost. After researching and sampling many various options, I’ve finally arrived at the Nemo Stargaze reclining camp chair. While pricey at $250, this is one of those items you buy once and enjoy forever. The perfect design and sleep-inducing comfort endure long after you’ve forgotten about the money you’ve spent. 

Like most folding chairs, the Stargaze packs down into a smaller zippered carrying bag. It doesn’t pack down quite as small as some chairs out there, but it’s a worthy price to pay for sublime comfort. It’s also quick and easy to set up, with no tricky fitments or overly tight tolerances to annoy you. At night, to prevent the chair from becoming soaked in dew, it only takes a few seconds to unclip the two anchor points and toss the fabric part into a tent.

I bought a couple of extras for friends, and everyone remarked about how comfy they were. With dedicated pockets for a drink and a phone, everyone settles in, and few look forward to getting back up.

Solar-Powered String Lights ($33)

On a warm summer night with a light breeze and sparkling conversation, it’s really nice to add just a bit of ambiance. In typical camping environments, a campfire is ideal—but with 40 or so gallons of 100LL just overhead, there are better options. 

I’m a fan of the Lepro brand string lights I found on Amazon. With solar power, the lights charge up during the day and then turn on at night. I hang mine up beneath the wing and simply set the small solar panel on top of the plane.

There is one downside. They won’t turn on until the photocell is convinced it’s completely dark out. This is annoying, as I find myself wanting the lights to turn on about an hour or two before they do. Accordingly, I have to use tape to cover the photocell as dusk settles in.

I put up with the annoyance, however, because unlike many string lights out there, the Lepros have a nice, warm, golden glow despite being LEDs. This creates a pleasant atmosphere that you really appreciate after seeing other LED string lights that have a high color temperature.

This year, for example, one camping neighbor’s harsh whitish-blue lights created an atmosphere every bit as charming as a vape shop in a strip mall, whereas my campsite was warm and inviting.

Pelican 30-Quart Elite Cooler ($250)

Icy-cold drinks are critical in hot, humid Wisconsin summers.

The first year I attended AirVenture as an airplane owner, I brought along a cheap styrofoam cooler to keep drinks chilled. It lasted about three days before cracking and being rendered useless.

The subsequent hunt for the perfect cooler was more complex than I expected. I wanted the perfect size—small enough to fit into my back seat for transport, yet big enough to hold a fair amount of beverages. I also decided I wanted one that performed well, as it would be sitting outside in the sun all day, every day.

I decided on the Pelican 30-quart Elite cooler. Compared to the equivalent Yeti, it has thicker walls, and I reasoned this equates to better insulation. It also has more robust latches and features some shallow cup holders on top that make it a decent side table or ottoman when closed.

I ordered white to better reflect the sun throughout the day, and it has performed beautifully. I typically add a small bag of ice once per day, which is more than necessary. Now, two years into ownership, I can’t find a single aspect to complain about.

Alps Mountaineering Camp Table ($80)

A good underwing table is the least exciting item on the list but also arguably the most useful.

Whether used to brew coffee, prepare meals, or simply keep everyday items in a handy, orderly state, it earns its keep every day. The trick is finding one that is perfectly sized for GA camping.

At 28 inches square and 27 inches tall, the Alps Mountaineering Camp Table fits the bill. Even better, it quickly collapses into a 7.5-by-4-by-28-inch pouch for transport and, with its aluminum construction, weighs only 6 pounds. The top can be easily removed and hosed off if needed, and while parts of it are plastic, everything appears to be relatively robust and durable.  

I’ve found that a good camp table isn’t truly valued until you’ve used it—and then you have to go without it. Suddenly, things like food, phone chargers, sunscreen, and all the random miscellanea that one compiles throughout the day begin to collect on the ground and in various corners of the aircraft cabin. It’s one item I’m happy to have along on any camping trip.

Anker Power Station ($329-$600)

As airplane campsites at AirVenture lack any kind of power, keeping devices charged has always been a challenge.

Historically, my strategy was to use two small 20,000 mAh power banks, leaving one plugged into a communal charging station overnight—unattended—while using the other. While this did keep my phone charged, it became annoying to monitor the charge levels of each, hoping to find an available outlet at the charging station…and then hoping it wouldn’t grow legs and walk away.

This year, I went nuclear. Not literally, although the power output of my big Anker C1000 1,056 watt-hour (Wh) charging station sometimes has me guessing. While expensive, there is another option at $600, only $100 more than the next smaller option, and I like to err on the side of more capacity.

I wasn’t sure about how much capacity I’d actually need. I knew I’d have a guest in their own tent next to my plane for the week, and I knew that we both wanted to keep our devices fully charged. I also knew that, as a good host, I’d like to be able to offer a top-off to friends stopping by for a visit.

For nine days, I did all of these things—and ended up using less than half of the C1000’s total capacity of 1,056 Wh. So, I clearly overbought. The upside? Now, I know I can run a couple of small fans at future AirVentures to keep cool and keep mosquitos away.

So, based on my own mission requirements, the smaller $500 Anker C800 Plus, with 768 Wh of capacity, would easily suffice while saving me money. For just one person, the even smaller Anker 535, with 512 Wh of capacity, would likely be just fine.

Regardless of which model you choose, having all the power you need right at your airplane for a week or more is a total game changer. 

The post 5 of the Best Pieces of Gear for Epic Underwing Camping appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

These are the kinds of things one learns when one must beg friends for a ride home from a distant rural airport immediately following EAA Airventure in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.

Fortunately, this discovery did not stem from mechanical woes or becoming stranded due to weather. It was simply a function of playing musical vehicles as I dropped off my plane for its annual inspection on my way back home after a week of festivities at Oshkosh. Not wanting to leave my mechanic with 207 pounds of cargo with which to contend during the inspection, I carefully loaded all of my gear into the Crosstrek with little room to spare.

• READ MORE: When Unforeseen Circumstances Threaten to Derail Amazing Experiences

This year, the entire AirVenture experience was a study in cargo and packing. While I’d done it before, this year was perhaps the first in which my gear selection was completely dialed, with a proven selection of items to ensure my week in Oshkosh would be the best ever.

From tents to cots to power supplies to food, every piece was carefully considered and calibrated, making for a fantastic week. Besides creating a top-notch AirVenture experience, this also reinforced my philosophy that it’s best to purchase an airplane you’ll grow into rather than out of.

I didn’t always feel this way.

Early on in my journey toward aircraft ownership, I had nearly settled on the trusty yet tiny Cessna 140 or its simpler, flapless cousin, the 120. I loved the way they flew, and they were among the least expensive options available. They seemed to check all the boxes.

Eventually, however, I decided that for me the ability to take that epic, once-a-year trip was worth the higher purchase price and increased fuel burn throughout the rest of the year. Two years of pinching pennies and working massive amounts of overtime eventually enabled the purchase of my larger, four-place 170.

And even though I never carry more than one passenger, and even though I only fully utilize the cabin volume once a year, the effort was entirely worth it. Had I settled for the smaller 120/140, every one of my Oshkosh experiences would be completely different.

For one, the additional space allows for luxuries that can completely transform any camping trip.

Years ago, in my motorcycle days, I learned firsthand that while it’s possible to pack extraordinarily small and light, this comes with significant compromises. The lightest tents and sleeping pads on the market, for example, function fine but prioritize minimalism and utility over comfort.

Now, with my roomy 170 made all the more voluminous via the removal of the rear seat, I could afford to upgrade my Oshkosh trip accordingly.

Going through my mental list of past annoyances, I addressed each individually. Thin sleeping pad that leaves me aching in the morning? Guess I’ll just go ahead and order the plush cot. A few extra changes of clothes that allow me to present myself at evening get-togethers as a civilized person rather than a shipwreck survivor? Don’t mind if I do.

The extra space and payload also enabled me to bring two laptops and a second monitor, so I could work remotely in the days leading up to the big event. Suddenly, I was able to live and work from the airplane. All it took was some careful weight-and-balance calculations and a bit of strategic positioning of the heavier items.

• READ MORE: EAA AirVenture 2024 in Photos

The extra space transforms the Oshkosh experience for friends, as well.

Two years ago, one friend found herself sleeping in a pool of rainwater when her cheap tent succumbed to passing storms. This year, an airline pilot friend came straight to Oshkosh from a work trip without a tent or sleeping pad. In each case, the 170’s cabin allowed me to toss in an extra tent and sleeping pad from my aforementioned motorcycle camping days. For the cost of an additional 2.5 pounds of gear, each friend enjoyed their trip immensely.

It often makes sense to expedite one’s entry into ownership by selecting a small, inexpensive type to begin with. If, for example, one is certain one’s mission will always be limited to short local flights.

But sometimes, buying an airplane capable of something more—even if that something occurs only once a year—can make it all worthwhile.

The post EAA AirVenture: A Study in Cargo and Packing appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

This is the 100th installment of The New Owner, and I suppose it’s only natural that the milestone is occurring amid a maniacal blend of emotions swirling around said ownership.

On one hand, EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, is next week (July 22-28), so there’s massive excitement for epic times just ahead. On the other hand, some maintenance issues have arisen over the past couple of weeks that create severe trepidation and directly threaten those amazing times.

It’s a perfect representation of aircraft ownership as a whole. Amazing experiences put at risk of derailment from unforeseen circumstances, fighting back and forth like so many Hollywood heroes and villains. But instead of the villains threatening the powers of good with swords, guns, and death rays, the threats come in the form of grounded airplanes and massive repair bills.

Frankly, I’d prefer to take my chances with the guns and death rays.

• READ MORE: Airplane Types Unlock AirVenture Locations for Parking, Camping

The first sign that something was amiss came several days ago in the form of engine oil. More specifically, a few extra drops on the hangar floor, slightly higher consumption than normal, and a new sheen collecting on the bottom of the engine. It wasn’t that my Continental engine was leaking oil. That’s pretty typical for most old Continentals. It was that mine was quite suddenly leaking in new places, at higher volumes, much differently than normal.

At any other time of year, it would be a simple matter of postponing future flights and booking some time with my mechanic. But this was Oshkosh month, a time when the severity of any mechanical problems increases exponentially as the date of the magnificent fly-in nears. And being that the big event was only a couple of weeks away at this point, panic quickly set in.

I immediately texted my mechanic, Ryan. He’s a great guy who embodies rural Wisconsin friendliness and honesty. He’s the kind of person who will bend over backward to help you and happily provide educational lessons about the tasks he’s performing along the way. He and his brother own and operate Johnson Brothers Flying Service in Lone Rock, Wisconsin, about 40 miles west of Madison.

While I was waiting for his reply, I examined my engine. I couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of the oil, but I suspected my Continental C-145 was experiencing weepy pushrod seals. This is a known issue with the type, as well as with the later version, the O-300.

I’ve always been amused at the engine’s midproduction name change from C-145 to O-300. Continental evidently figured that referring to the engine by the displacement (300 cubic inches) made it sound more powerful and impressive than referring to it by the 145 hp it produces. Marketing 101, I suppose.

Ryan replied that he would try to make it out sometime during the week before my departure to Oshkosh. But because he was so busy, he couldn’t guarantee it. I’d just have to wait and hope. In the meantime, I opted to remove my upper and lower cowls for a closer inspection.

To someone like me with close to zero mechanical aptitude, dismantling your airplane’s upper and lower cowls to reveal an entirely naked engine is simultaneously empowering and intimidating.

In one respect, it makes you feel like you know what you’re doing. Anyone walking past the open hangar door would naturally assume you possess some rudimentary level of knowledge and proficiency. But in another respect, you’re pretty sure you’re fooling nobody.

For the purposes of an engine inspection, however, it worked out just fine, and I was able to trace the leak to the oil temperature probe on the back of the engine accessory case. I forwarded this intel to Ryan.

The next afternoon, I received a text from him. Unbeknownst to me, he made it out to my plane and addressed the leak. I was ecstatic and headed right out to the airport for a shakedown flight prior to my trip up to Oshkosh.

Sure enough, the oil leak appeared to be taken care of. I preflighted the airplane, pulled it out of the hangar, and hopped in—only to discover that the throttle was inexplicably encountering some kind of blockage halfway into its travel.

Thinking that a running engine might somehow solve the problem, I started it up but found that nothing had changed. The throttle knob would only advance about halfway to full throttle before encountering a hard stop.

Now, things were getting serious. It was a Friday evening, less than a week before my planned departure to Oshkosh. Ryan was busy and wouldn’t be able to chat until Sunday or Monday. Desperate not to miss the big event, I gave my friend Dan a call.

“Hey, man, have you sold your Ercoupe yet?” Dan replied that he had not. “And you’re not going to make it to Oshkosh this year, right?” “That’s right,” he replied. “We’ll be in Michigan all week.”

• READ MORE: Flying In to AirVenture: A Carefully Orchestrated Cacophony of Chaos

He knew I was angling for something, so I explained.

“I’m dealing with some mechanical issues on the 170, and I’m not sure if it’ll be fixed in time for Oshkosh,” I said. “If it’s not, how about I take the Ercoupe up and hang some of those big ‘for-sale’ signs on the prop so a half million people see it?”

After considering this for a moment, Dan agreed that it would be a win-win sort of situation.

With a backup plan firmly in place, Saturday came and went. On Sunday morning, I received a text from Ryan. He was available to zip out to the hangar and have a look at my throttle issue.

The fix took him all of about five minutes. He explained that he must have inadvertently dislodged part of the throttle cable while inspecting something else during the oil leak work. He assured me it wasn’t likely to occur again and said he’d be entirely comfortable flying it. He also said that because it was his fault, he wouldn’t be charging me for the trip out. I gave him a 100-dollar bill anyway to show my appreciation.

At the time of this writing, I have just about everything packed up. My tent, sleeping bag, cooler, chairs, underwing party lights, and coffee supplies are ready to go. This afternoon, I’ll fly a shakedown flight to check for any errant oil leaks and confirm all is in order. With any luck, I’ll be flying my own plane up to Oshkosh tomorrow and, much as I sincerely appreciate Dan’s offer, hopefully not an Ercoupe.

If you wonderful readers will also be at Oshkosh next week, please come find me. I plan to be somewhere around Row No. 67, right up on the airshow crowd line. I’d like to thank you in person for your readership and support over the past few years and give you a sticker or two.

Just look for the blue 170 with Alaskan Bushwheel tires. Or, depending on how things go, a classy little Ercoupe.

The post When Unforeseen Circumstances Threaten to Derail Amazing Experiences appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

As is the case with any first-time airplane owner, he’s pretty excited and has been asking me all kinds of thoughtful questions about the logistics of flying into the biggest aviation celebration in the world, EAA AirVenture in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. One of his first questions pertained to the geography of the July 22-28 event and in what area he should plan to park and camp.

• READ MORE: Oshkosh 2024 Notice Outlines Changes for Pilots Flying to AirVenture

Without hesitation, I recommended that he join a mutual friend and me in the centrally located vintage area. A solid week of knuckleheaded antics with a couple of old friends as our airplanes are parked side by side at Oshkosh is the stuff of dreams. As I looked into it, however, I discovered that his airplane—a beautiful 1973 Bellanca Super Viking—was built just past the 1971 cutoff for the vintage category.

I found this to be frustrating. I know the cutoff has to be made somewhere, but his Super Viking is relatively rare, with a sweet design and old-school craftsmanship. It seems wrong that it’s not permitted in the vintage area while scores of Bonanzas and Mooneys that are barely distinguishable from their 1980s-era counterparts fill the rows there. 

As it turns out, the Experimental Aircraft Association clearly defines not just the vintage category of aircraft but the subcategories as well. Within vintage, they are as follows:

• Antique: Aircraft manufactured before August 31, 1945
• Classic: Aircraft manufactured from September 1, 1945, through December 31, 1955
• Contemporary: Aircraft manufactured from January 1, 1956, through December 31, 1970

Chris, therefore, needed a quick lesson on the lay of the land at AirVenture. And so I presented him with an overview of his options, such as they are.

As his aircraft doesn’t fit into the EAA’s categories of vintage, experimental, or warbird, he will be directed to one of two areas upon landing—the “North 40” or the “South 40.” Located at the far north and far south ends of Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH), respectively, these are the largest areas where most airplane owners park and camp.

• READ MORE: Flying Into AirVenture: A Carefully Orchestrated Cacophony of Chaos

They are, however, quite different. And while arriving aircraft are not guaranteed to have a choice of which they’ll be directed toward after landing, pilots can print and display a sign requesting one or the other.

If the incoming traffic flow and the workload of the ground marshallers allow, they’ll direct you to your preferred area. So it’s good to know how they differ. 

Additionally, each area has its own unique vibe, with differences not readily apparent in the Oshkosh Notice and markedly different pros and cons. Here’s how I described them to Chris:

North 40

The North 40 is the area surrounding Runways 9-27 at the north end of the airport.

It’s got a lot going for it. The proximity to businesses and restaurants makes it easy to walk to grab a bite of non-EAA food or pick up some supplies. The latter comes in handy when a severe storm approaches and materials for last-minute hail protection suddenly become needed.

Because parking/camping spots are arranged on both sides of the runway, the views of arriving and departing aircraft are fantastic. One needs only walk to the end of their row to sit and watch all the arrivals and departures. It’s not at all unusual for your morning wake-up call to come in the form of multiple P-51s banking directly overhead as they depart for a dawn patrol formation flight. Few alarms are so sublime.

Amenities abound in the North 40. In addition to a small shower trailer on the north side of 9-27, the south side has two separate shower/restroom buildings. Several rows down, there is also a cafe that serves full meals and a small store for toiletries, snacks, and necessities.

A regular procession of dedicated school buses makes constant loops from the show entrance to the Basler ramp in the northeast corner of the airport. Simply flag down one as needed, settle in among your new friends for the ride, and call out the row number where you’d like to be dropped off. I like to leave a small tip for the driver after reaching my destination.

The biggest downside? The steady noise from Interstate 41 and adjacent roads. While mostly just background noise, it adds something of a rest area vibe to an otherwise magical aviation experience. At night, it’s not uncommon for an errant semitruck, Harley-Davidson, or emergency vehicle to wake you up from an otherwise peaceful slumber.

South 40

If the North 40 is city living, the South 40 is quiet life out in the country.

The very southern end borders a 55 mph county road, but there’s otherwise no automobile traffic noise to speak of at night. It’s a peaceful, relaxing vibe.

While the peaceful tranquility is nice with respect to cars, it’s a bit of a downer when it comes to airplanes. Situated well south of Runway 36-18, there are no great views of the runway and only approaches—not landings—are visible from most rows. The vast majority of the South 40 is well south of the action.

The EAA has done a good job bringing the recently expanded South 40 up to speed with amenities. It still falls short of the North 40, but it now has a small store, and showers are easy to find. In addition, there are now more numerous and more frequent shuttles to and from the main show grounds, making it easier to get back and forth. 

For those regularly frequenting the ultralight strip, the South 40 sits in relatively close proximity. Campers stuck walking back to their airplanes after the legendary STOL demo and Twilight Flight Fest face a walk of only a mile to the most distant row in the South 40. This compares with a walk of nearly three miles to the most distant row of the North 40 and provides strong motivation to catch the last shuttle before being shut down for the night.

Armed with a clearer understanding of his camping options, Chris is now better prepared for his first trip to AirVenture in his first airplane. With any luck, the EAA will gradually expand the cutoff for the vintage category to include his sweet Viking.

Until then, I’m sure he’ll have a blast wherever he ends up.

The post Airplane Types Unlock AirVenture Locations for Parking, Camping appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I first attended as a passenger in my flying club’s Cessna 182 in the late 1990s and spent the following several years mooching rides from other club members in various aircraft types. After moving to Wisconsin, I spent many years driving up and camping with friends next to their airplanes. 

I was entirely satisfied with the event regardless of how I got there. I was convinced it couldn’t possibly become any more enjoyable to submerge oneself in aviation history and culture for an entire week in the company of good friends. But in the past few years, I’ve experienced how an already magical event can become even more epic when one attends in their very own airplane.

• READ MORE: 5 of the Best New Aircraft Owner Products Under $500

My very favorite part of flying my plane into AirVenture is a segment of the experience nobody ever seems to talk about.

Understandably, the most notable part of the adventure tends to be the unique arrival procedure in which thousands upon thousands of airplanes funnel their way into the event in a mostly neat and orderly fashion. By referring to landmarks on the ground, practicing good, old-fashioned pilotage, and keeping our eyes outside to spot traffic, we slot into sequence and proceed single file into the world’s greatest aviation celebration. This is the part of the event that everybody documents and shares—but my favorite part is the part that occurs immediately after landing.

After touchdown, specific procedures, frequencies, landmarks, and sequencing immediately become obsolete. In their place, we shift mental gears and begin a set of steps that are primitive yet effective in nature. After the controller instructs us to immediately depart the runway, we obediently lumber off into the lumpy grass and begin scanning for the nearest marshaller. When we spot one, we scramble for a previously prepared handmade sign and hold it high in the window to communicate our desired parking or camping area without speaking a word over the radio.

The marshaller, upon recognizing our desired destination, points and ushers us into the direction that will take us there. We repeat this process with each subsequent marshaller, all while attempting to ignore the sublime distraction of Rolls-Royce Merlin V-12 engines at takeoff power just a few wingspans away, and we try not to fixate on the magnificent Staggerwing or T-6 breathing down our rudder just behind.

Sometimes, serendipity delivers us from the active runway almost directly to our parking spot with a minimum of taxi time. In other years, the opposite occurs, and we spend the better part of an hour lumbering from one marshaller to the next, working our way toward our unknown parking spot in a distant part of the airfield as the event unfolds around us.

Eventually, we are directed into a quickly filling line of neatly parked airplanes and carefully urge the airplane through more thick grass, slotting into position next to our new neighbors who themselves completed the process only moments before.

Immediately after shutdown, our final marshaller provides a hearty “Welcome to Oshkosh!” and instructs us to tie down our airplane securely without delay. The urgency to do so spills over into our subsequent duties of setting up our campsites, and we madly fling gear and equipment out of their carefully planned organization and out onto the grass that will serve as our home for the following week. 

• READ MORE: Landing a Tonka Truck With Wings

Surrounded by the sound of tent stakes being pounded into the Wisconsin soil, warbirds flying overhead, and newcomers using 2,400 rpm to power their way into nearby parking spots, we rush to set up our tents, organize our campsites, and monitor the wingtips of yet more newcomers as they taxi past our airplanes with inches to spare. Being the good citizens we are, we then rush to help our new neighbors secure their own airplanes, excitedly exchange friendly greetings, and invite each other over for evening refreshments. 

After this carefully orchestrated cacophony of chaos, my favorite moment of all occurs.

A dawning comprehension takes place in our harried, sleep-deprived, and overtaxed brains, and we realize that all the work—the planning, preparation, flying, and meticulous attention to detail—has all come to an abrupt end. And for the next week, the one and only remaining duty is to kick back and relax beneath the wing of our airplane. No expectations. No responsibilities. Just seven or eight days of beautiful airplanes and legendary friends.

It’s at this moment that I like to grab an icy drink, plop into my comfy camp chair, reflect upon the successful execution of so many individual tasks, and simply take it all in. The energy in the days leading up to the official beginning of the event is palpable. The twinkling landing lights in the distance could be anything from a Ford Trimotor to a Boeing 777 to a C-5 Galaxy to a sleek F-35 fighter. And whatever it is, it’s about to land directly in front of us. We might take note of some dark clouds in the distance and silently bid our incoming friends good luck, hoping everyone makes it in safely.

• READ MORE: Seeking Out Ghosts of Your Airplane’s Past

A bit later, a second realization occurs. We have a decision to make, after all—but it has nothing to do with the monotony of normal life. It’s unrelated to budgets, or home repairs, or expense reports, or annual reviews, or any of the thousands of bland, repetitive tasks that form our never ending pile of typical adult responsibilities.

Instead, we need to decide whether we’ll have a bratwurst or a burger for lunch. And perhaps which direction we should walk first to begin taking in the magic of the greatest aviation celebration in the world. And which beloved knucklehead buddy we should seek out first. For the next week, these sorts of decisions are all that’s expected of us as the weight of everyday life takes flight and contacts departure.

With our troubles behind us and nothing but happiness ahead, we smile to ourselves and wrestle with these pleasant, simple decisions. And more likely than not, we nod off for a bit in the warm Wisconsin sun and soft summer breeze as the scent of jet exhaust and the drone of endlessly approaching airplanes lazily waft over us.

After a long, cold winter, AirVenture is finally here…and so are we.

The post Flying Into AirVenture: A Carefully Orchestrated Cacophony of Chaos appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Rosen Sun Visors ($550)

Moreover, this was the only modification I’d prepared before even taking delivery of my airplane. They’re that good.

Hop into any legacy Cessna with original visors, and it becomes clear why. Undersized to begin with, the flimsy plastic or vinyl-covered stock visors leave much to be desired. If, after decades of use, they miraculously remain intact, there’s little chance that they go into the position you desire and stay there. More likely, they freely flop around and swing out of position, blinding you and creating a distraction all their own.

Everything about Rosen’s visors exudes precision. From the high-quality acrylic that doesn’t alter colors to the beefy, machined aluminum hardware, they have a solid feel and will surely outlast stock visors. Move them into position, and they remain there without complaint. Best of all, they’re translucent, so you can block the sun without blocking your vision.

Like a good set of shoulder harnesses in a vintage aircraft, I considered these a legitimate safety improvement and continue to enjoy them nearly every time I fly.

BAS Tail Pull Handles ($345-$435)

Although my airplane came with a good, solid tow bar for the tailwheel, I discovered that there were plenty of instances where moving my plane around became unnecessarily challenging. There were times I flew someplace and left my tow bar behind, and there were other times when I only needed to adjust the plane’s position slightly and didn’t want to bother with it.

Even if you remember to bring one along, tow bars often present a dilemma. If they’re small enough to fit nicely into the baggage compartment, they tend to be small and flimsy. But if they’re large and beefy enough to work well, they’re also large enough to be cumbersome in the airplane. Mine was firmly in the latter category, weighing about 15 pounds and requiring disassembly to fit into the airplane.

BAS Inc.’s tail pull handles solve this issue cleanly and simply. Nothing more than retractable, tubular aluminum handles that manually extend and retract into and out of the side of the aft fuselage, they are completely hidden until you need them. In addition to providing a sturdy handhold with which to move your plane around, they also dissuade ham-fisted helpers from grabbing and placing undue stress upon relatively fragile fairings and stabilizers.

Installation is quick and easy for any A&P. BAS states that this requires only 1.5 hours, keeping the final, total cost of the upgrade well under $1,000. They’re available for Cessna taildraggers, the Luscombe 8-series, and experimental taildraggers.

Pro tip: When having them installed in an aluminum fuselage, ask your mechanic to save the small round blanks that are cut from the fuselage. Then use them to make a couple of small keychains as souvenirs. 

The Perfect Stepladder ($215)

Whether you’re fueling, washing, or inspecting a high-wing airplane, it pays to have a completely stable, sure-footed stepladder. A couple of winters ago, I learned this the hard way. Fed up with the cheap, flimsy aluminum ladder my airport keeps out by the fuel pumps, I clambered up onto my 170 using the tire and wing strut for support and proceeded to wrestle with the stiff, inflexible rubber hose.

Just as I finished topping off my right tank, I stepped backward, aiming my foot toward the tire. In a series of slow-motion still frames, I felt my foot slip off, saw blue sky, and then landed on my upper back. I landed hard and heard actual snaps that X-rays later determined to be multiple broken ribs in my chest and back. 

Months later, when I regained my mobility, I opened up my laptop and went ladder shopping with the ferocity of a new father looking for his first pair of New Balance sneakers. After hours of research and several measurements at my plane, I finally found the perfect ladder—a Werner PD6204. It is the perfect height for a Cessna, even on tundra tires. More importantly, it has a roomy platform upon which to stand, enabling a wide stance for stability when fueling or scrubbing the airplane.

While this is perhaps not the most impressive or flashy item I’ve purchased for my airplane, I genuinely enjoy and appreciate it every time I use it. 

McFarlane Vernier Mixture Knob ($225)

Vintage aircraft have vintage technology. Most of it is charming, transporting us back to the era in which the machine was built. But some of it is simply bad. Old Cessna mixture knobs certainly fall into the latter category.

Closely resembling a small push-pull carb heat knob, my original mixture knob offered about 3 inches of fore and aft travel. This made leaning the engine with any precision an exercise in futility. More than once, while rolling out after landing, I pulled what I thought was a small amount of mixture out to lean the engine for taxiing, only to inadvertently starve it of fuel and momentarily stumble. 

Recalling the nice, refined switchgear in the modern aircraft used by my Part 141 school years ago, I again went searching. I found McFarlane’s MC600-72 mixture control knob. It works as a mixture knob should, offering quick push-pull adjustment as well as vernier adjustment for fine-tuning.

To anyone flying modern aircraft, the inclusion of such an item in this list must seem comical. But to anyone dealing with old, antiquated controls from the 1940s or ’50s, the upgrade is a no-brainer and has proven to be pure luxury.

Sporty’s PJ2+ Hand-Held Comm Radio ($249)

I’ve wanted a good hand-held radio for many years for three reasons: first, for fun and to monitor airshow traffic; second, to coordinate efforts between pilots in the air and people on the ground during events like photo shoots; and finally, to serve as a backup in the event of a radio failure in flight.

I’d never been too impressed with industry offerings. Many include wholly unnecessary functionality, such as GPS, VOR navigation, and ILS approach capability. The latter is downright comical to me. While I suppose such a radio solidly mounted to the panel might suffice as an ILS backup in an extreme emergency, the thought of using a hand-held radio to fly an ILS seems downright comical.

Sporty’s PJ2+ is great because of its simplicity. It’s only a comm radio, lacking extraneous features to complicate matters. It has an intuitive interface and runs on AA batteries or USB power. Best of all, you can plug your dual-plug headset into it, ensuring you can easily hear and be heard in flight. At $249, it’s also fairly priced.

Drawbacks? Thus far, I’ve only found a couple. The volume and squelch knobs spin far too easily. While this might seem like a frivolous concern, it means that the slightest bump or light brush against a knob can inadvertently turn it all the way up or all the way down. If the latter occurs, critical incoming audio might go unheard. A clumsy solution would be to wrap a rubber band around the knobs several times, but if Sporty’s could change to higher-friction knobs, that would be ideal.

The only other concern I’ve encountered is constant static on certain CTAF frequencies. Even when dialing the squelch all the way down, I’m unable to monitor my local airfield without nonstop static.

Even with these issues, however, the PJ2+ is everything I expect to ever need in a hand-held radio, and I’m very happy with it.

The post 5 of the Best New Aircraft Owner Products Under $500 appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Today, things really aren’t much different. Sure, the Tonka trucks have long since been retired. And, yes, my machines of choice have evolved somewhat. But my Cessna 170B with 29-inch Alaskan Bushwheel tires perfectly embodies the spirit of Tonka truck fun and go-anywhere adventure. The combination of a sturdy taildragger and big tundra tires has enabled me to successfully negotiate muddy runways, snow, ice, and battered surfaces that would hobble many typical setups.

But while the massive, low-pressure tires indeed unlock access to destinations that would otherwise be off-limits, I’m learning that they can require some careful planning. Because the pliable rubber that turns rough surfaces into usable runways is so much softer than  traditional, high-pressure tires, it’s a good idea to avoid using them on pavement and concrete. Doing so can prematurely wear the tires, resulting in corresponding wear on one’s bank account.

Accordingly, I now think twice before popping into airports that lack any grass options.

This is easier said than done, even with the plentiful grass options that abound in my home state of Wisconsin. After all, whether it’s fuel, maintenance, or a good restaurant you’re after, these things are often only available at fully paved airports.

Recently, I flew to Janesville, Wisconsin, to help judge a national flight competition sanctioned by the National Intercollegiate Flying Association (NIFA). Back in college, I competed for four years with the Western Michigan University Sky Broncos, and I try to serve as a volunteer judge whenever I can. Dating back to 1919, it’s pure, grassroots general aviation flying, with a strong emphasis on safety and precision, and has involved names like Earhart, Trippe, and Lindbergh.

I’d been looking forward to the event for some time but still I cringed as I gently touched down on the harsh, grooved concrete. On the ramp, I was careful to avoid sharp turns that brutally scrub the inside tire. As the tires cost over $2,000 each, I felt my efforts were warranted.

Fortunately, some progress is being made when it comes to expanding grass options at airports across the country. As is so often the case, the Recreational Aviation Foundation (RAF) is spearheading efforts to open more destinations to pilots interested in exploring rural strips. A couple of years ago, the organization worked with the FAA and got it to officially 

acknowledge turf operations within runway safety areas. In other words, the FAA has now acknowledged that it can often make sense to conduct takeoffs and landings in grass areas immediately adjacent to hard-surfaced runways.

This isn’t just about saving money on tires. It’s also about selecting a runway surface that’s more forgiving of imperfectly aligned landings. Land a taildragger in a slight crab on pavement, and the tires will grab, setting you up for a nasty ground loop. Do the same on grass, and the tires will more likely slide slightly, making it a nonevent.

I wasn’t able to use a grassy area at Janesville for the flight competition. That airport has yet to designate any grass areas for landing, which is why I almost never fly to the fantastic airport restaurant located on the field. It’s a shame, considering it would be a short 15-to-20-minute flight for breakfast.

As it happens, my latest airport restaurant visit occurred just days after the flight competition at a rural, sleepy airport called Tri-County Regional (KLNR) in Lone Rock, Wisconsin. There, Sam’s Airport Diner proudly serves fantastic fare to pilots from Wisconsin and neighboring states. Best of all, the airport maintains a nicely mown strip of grass alongside the main runway, where taildragger pilots—or anyone with a preference for soft runways—may take off and land. 

It’s an idea that’s gaining momentum. Ask any pilot at  EAA AirVenture whether Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH) in Oshkosh has a grass option, and they’ll invariably point to the ultralight strip where the fantastic STOL demos take place. Some might mention the EAA’s nearby Pioneer Airport. But, in fact, Wittman Regional has designated a grass area adjacent to Runway 9-27 for takeoffs and landings. It’s on the south side of the runway, at the far western end, and is usable only upon request and when traffic conditions permit. 

As I seek new and interesting places to take my grown-up Tonka truck with wings, I also continue to look for nice grass options like these. If an airport provides a more forgiving, tire-friendly, and legitimately safer alternative to its hard-surface runways, I’d certainly be interested in frequenting it.

And while, sure, I could simply switch back to standard, high-pressure tires, the stable, pillowy-soft experience of my big tundras is proving to be so much fun that it’s entirely worth the trouble.

The post Landing a Tonka Truck With Wings appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

With a lengthy lifespan comes a colorful history. And while we are able to peruse our aircraft logbooks for clues or even easily access decades of ownership and registration records from the FAA, gaps abound. So we’re often left without much background or context regarding their past lives. The grand adventures, close calls, and colorful circumstances through which our airplanes endured typically elude us as we daydream about their past lives. 

I considered myself fortunate when, from out of the blue, an individual from my airplane’s past contacted me via email. Her name was Phyllis, and when browsing this column, she recognized my Cessna 170 as the airplane she and her husband, Al, used to own between 1970 and 1981. She explained that although Al had passed away in 2017, she still kept in touch with Dick, the gentleman to whom they had sold to and from whom I had purchased the airplane.

• READ MORE: Navigating the Aircraft Ownership Learning Curve Through Type Clubs

It was a pleasure to make contact with Phyllis. I learned a few things about the 170 and told her the whole story about meeting Dick and buying it from him. Recognizing it was a long shot, I asked her if she happened to have any old photos from the days she owned it. She said she did, and a couple of weeks later, I received some color photocopies of my airplane, wearing a different tail number and frolicking among the beaches of the Pacific Northwest. 

As someone with a soft spot for bygone eras and forgotten times, I was immensely grateful to receive these glimpses into my airplane’s history. I shared them with Dick, as well. He was able to provide some additional context to the photos, explaining what beach was likely visible in one of the photos and pointing out how Al chose the former tail number (N170AL) to display his initials. 

Last month, I had the unexpected opportunity to give my friend Jim a glimpse into his own airplane’s history. While aimlessly scrolling through eBay listings for old airplane slides and scanning for any particularly interesting slices of aviation history, I spotted a Cessna 170 with a paint scheme that looked familiar. The listing was for a set of 10 old slides taken at an unnamed fly-in sometime in the early 1980s, and the 170 pictured appeared to have the exact same paint scheme as Jim’s 170.

• READ MORE: Going to the Birds, And How Not To

This was quite the coincidence. Jim’s airplane had been repainted in its original factory paint scheme but with nonstandard colors. In place of the standard primary reds, yellows, or blues, his plane sports a color palette nearly identical to that of the A&W burger chain, a tasteful pairing of orange and brown. The likelihood that these slides showed a doppelganger was miniscule…but I had to be sure.

Of course, the tail number was inconveniently cut off in every photo, making a positive identification impossible. But a closer look and some methodical detective work eventually resulted in certainty beyond a reasonable doubt. The airplane in the slides sported the exact same Horton STOL kit and the same engine modification, but the deciding factor was the presence of a unique decal on one wingtip but not on the other. It had to be Jim’s plane.

I went ahead and spent the $12 for the set of slides. When they arrived, I had them professionally scanned and printed, and I placed the two best shots in a small frame for Jim to hang on the wall of his hangar. Sure, they were relatively unremarkable photos in the grand scheme of things, but they captured a scene showing his airplane in a time well before he bought it. Best of all, it showed his airplane wearing a set of wheel pants. Having only ever known his airplane with a big set of Alaskan Bushwheel tundra tires, it was both amusing and comical to see.

• READ MORE: When It’s Better to Have It and Not Need It

Since making this aviation-related archeological discovery, I now keep an eagle eye out for any old photos or articles featuring any of my friends’ airplanes. I even went so far as to enter a handful of their tail numbers as “saved searches” in eBay so that I’ll be alerted if and when any items, such as photos, slides, or logbooks, are listed for sale with those tail numbers in the descriptions. 

In this way, I hope to once again pair forgotten memories with the present day, filling in vacant gaps in history with context that would otherwise be lost forever. I think anyone who considers themselves to be caretakers of aviation history, rather than just owners, would greatly appreciate the effort.

The post Seeking Out Ghosts of Your Airplane’s Past appeared first on FLYING Magazine.