Wandering Skies

  Lifting off from the Medford, Oregon airport, heading for Bellingham, Washington on the next leg of my journey to Southeast Alaska, I retracted the gear on the Cessna 182 Amphibious floatplane. After the usual “monkey motion” of the retraction sequence, I noticed that only three of the four wheels were showing in the “UP” position as indicated by blue lights on the panel. The left front nosewheel remained down, with its respective green light glowing brightly. Not knowing what might be causing this, I tried recycling the system. Once again, the green light confirmed the same problem. Okay, time for a change of plans. I contacted my buddy Michael via text as I flew north, who researched possible floatplane repair facilities along my route. He called the folks at Northwest Seaplane Maintenance in Renton, Washington who quickly agreed to meet me that afternoon. I notified ATC of the change in destination and planned the route into the Renton area. The 3.5-hour flight was beautiful and u

As the floats of the Super Cub kissed the sand along the small peninsula, I watched the gaggle of small children moving our way. Some were scrambling to reach us while others timidly held onto Mom or Dad’s hand as they walked slowly in our direction, unsure if it was okay to approach. Tim and I had spent the morning training in his beautiful yellow Super Cub on Wipline 2100 amphib floats, practicing various maneuvers and performing a plethora of takeoffs and landings along the Highland Lakes in the Texas Hill Country. We had not seen each other for several years and had sort of lost touch a bit as friends sometimes do. Life gets in the way, you know. Then Tim gave me a call to see if I would be interested in doing some training in a Super Cub on floats. Not just any Super Cub, however. Along with his friend Jim, Tim had recently purchased the immaculate AOPA Sweepstakes airplane that had been restored by Roger and Darrin Meggers at Baker Air Service in Baker, Montana. We began at the R

  In February 2010, an earthquake imploded the city of Port au Prince, Haiti, killing nearly 300,000 and injuring more than a million. The devastation washed many of the wounded and homeless into the countryside where they flooded surrounding communities, overwhelming existing facilities and spawning new cases of old diseases including dysentery and cholera. As I watched the early reporting it was clear that massive aid would be required and, as it was with Katrina, much of it would be targeted at the epicenter leaving the other towns and villages to make the best of it. Knowing there would be a need for volunteers to help move critical supplies into remote regions by light aircraft and strangely and strongly compelled to apply what skills and equipment I could offer, I broached the subject with my wife. “I’d like to go, but it will be challenging.” “Will it be dangerous?” she asked, already knowing. “Possibly so, and expensive, probably very expensive.” “How will we afford i

  I DECLARE….. “November 46 Romeo are you declaring an emergency?” asks the Abilene Tower controller. Juan, new owner of the Diamond DA-40, looks at me from the left seat, eyes bulging, clearly uncertain how to respond. “What should I tell him?” We had begun a training flight on the ramp in San Antonio earlier this morning, intending to make a “round robin” flight around the middle of Texas to complete the insurance requirements and to familiarize Juan with both the airplane and the new Garmin G-1000 panel. In his mid 30’s, Juan is a medical doctor and fairly low-time private pilot. He is whip smart and serious about training. He purchased the airplane to allow him to travel to outlying hospitals for shifts in the Emergency Room.   With his wife riding in the back seat, we had flown to Midland, then on to Abilene. By the time we arrived in the Abilene area, the sun had disappeared, and the lights of the city sparkled in the clear winter air. Juan’s approach and landing had been fla

  Choices… Sometimes it is not so easy.   If you’ve never tried the barbeque at Cooper’s Old Time BBQ in Llano, Texas, you don’t know what you’re missing. It has a well-deserved reputation for the best brisket, ribs and sausage in Texas and has been named as one of the best BBQ spots in the state. Pilots often fly into the Llano airport and grab one of the courtesy vans furnished by the restaurant to make the pilgrimage into town.   Occasionally the line of folks waiting will stretch around the building. Finally, when you make your way to the enormous black pit, the pit master raises the steel lid, fragrant oak smoke rolls out and you are suddenly faced with a decision. “What can I get for you?” he asks. Now the pressure is on. Staring into the maw of the beast, you spot a variety of succulent smoked meats. Deciding what to order is a challenge because it is all simply delicious. “I’ll have some pork ribs and a half link of sausage.” “You want sauce with that?” “Sure, why not?”

  As the Cessna Amphibian emerges from the ragged overcast into the fading light of a cool September evening, I can barely pick out the end of the runway through the rain-smeared windshield. A stiff left crosswind shoves me off centerline, requiring a boot-full of rudder to keep the nose straight. After touchdown at my small Central Texas airport, relieved to be safely on the surface, I slowly taxi to a parking spot and shut down the big Lycoming. In the enveloping silence, I remain seated for several long minutes as the realization sinks in that this summer’s Alaska adventure is truly complete. The trip had taken nine weeks and almost a hundred flight hours, covering thousands of miles through some of the most amazing scenery and some of the worst weather I’ve seen, including furnace-like heat across the southern tier of states, followed by near-constant rain and low ceilings in Southeast Alaska. Throw in an in-flight emergency, and you get to enjoy an unplanned and expensive week in

  Just before dawn, the Piper Super Cub lifts off the small central Texas runway and climbs a few hundred feet before leveling off. The underside of the wing catches the slanting morning light as I watch the world waking below. The limestone ridges light up first, leaving the valleys in deep shadow. Riding the butter-soft air before the thermals stir, I follow the old air routes that lead me across the high plains of the Llano Estacado. The morning smells of sage and cedar, cool enough to make me close the air vents. Soon the heat will force me higher in search of smoother air aloft but for now, as the miles slip easily toward the next fuel stop, there is plenty of time to reflect on this latest adventure. After a lifetime of flying for a living, it is finally it is time for one last logbook entry. Faded blue eyes that match my chambray long sleeve shirt see an old man’s face reflected in the windscreen reminding me that time is a slippery SOB stealing opportunity and capability withou