Mississippi to Maine by Luscombe: Day 5

The sun peeked between the birch trees outside the window. Once again, it was time to head skyward. We gathered our gear and headed for the truck. An icy blast of air sucked our breath away as we opened the hangar door—it must have been near freezing!

We piled the goods into the airplane, fed her gas, and cranked up as quickly as possible. This was the coldest weather my little Luscombe had been in and it took a while for the oil pressure to rise into the normal operating range. We idled for quite a while for the little engine to warm up. The run-up was normal but when I went to put the throttle in on takeoff the engine stuttered. In cold weather, the engine accelerated lethargically compared to its performance in warmer weather.

We went around the patch once just to make sure everything was fine. The airplane flew happily along the pattern even though my touch and go wasn’t pretty. We banked eastward toward a series of ridges running northward. The A65 was finally enjoying the cool, dense air and gave us good power in our climb. Our next stop, Rangeley, Maine put our course on an ever closer track to Canada. We made sure to stay on course and not cause an international incident—not something anyone would really be able to detect anyway without a transponder to watch for. 

The mountains in the distance grew broader and taller as we approached. A ski lodge revealed itself as we passed an especially tall mountain. There was still summer snow on some of the slopes and on the shaded side near the peak! Vermont quickly faded into New Hampshire which in turn quickly gave way to Maine. 

Snow!

We were freezing in our light clothes and uninsulated airplane by the point we let down into Bean Municipal. We taxied over to the pumps but they  were boarded up in a locker! We had landed at another airport without the four prongs on the chart signifying public fuel. A hangar door a distance down the taxiway was open and a pilot headed our way with a German Shepherd and a Weimaraner. Thankfully he was a local and was able to unlock the cabinet and sell us some fuel.

Our Four-Legged Welcome Party

Back in the air, we followed the valley between the Sugarloaf and Saddleback Mountains eastbound. The terrain was broad yet tall and beautiful yet desolate—a combination we were witnessing for our very first time up close. We climbed a bit more to escape the turbulence and headed northeastward as we fell into a broad plain. We spied a lone series of mountains far to the east and tried to pick them out on the sectional—the chart indicated they were the only mountains along that swath of coast and we were nearly 120 miles away! We were astonished by the incredible visibility.

The Valley Between Sugarloaf and Saddleback

The view kept us spellbound until another more profound effect registered yet again: the cold. We were turning into popsicles in this little aluminum tin can of airplane with no heat! The view was no longer enough to distract our physical misery and a round of singing, joking, and speaking in high voices filled our time. Lars pulled out his Mickey Mouse voice, which accidentally got released as he called our base leg into our next fuel stop, Millinocket, Maine!

Climbing out of the airplane felt as if we had stepped into a scene from Flying Wild Alaska! Everything around us screamed, “the death grip of winter has just let go!” A group of old timer bush pilot types were sitting around inside and got a kick out of my story of taking the heat out of my airplane. 

The airport manager helped us refuel and then propped us of from behind the prop—a technique used on ski-equipped airplanes! Once we were airborne and established in a climb, Lars pulled out his sleeping bag to slightly slow our chilling. Mount Katahdin, the mile-high end of the Appalachian Trail, rested just to the left of our northbound course so we climbed to its peak height and flew right by it. 

Mt. Katahdin in Snow

We pressed on, futilely trying to lose as little heat as possible. Majestic scenery crept by and the temperature felt like it was dropping. We were headed north at 6,000ft and a cold front was working into the area. In some areas, the fantastic terrain  was spotted with large unsightly swaths of deforestation. These barren areas were covered in fingerlike logging road. It was clear that human meddling had certainly done its damage.

A series of lakes eventually filled the view and we knew Frenchville Airport, the northernmost airport in the lower 48, was approaching. We started our descent and joined a base to land. Thankfully I was still limber enough to slip us in for a passable landing. Before the fuel in gascolator could be burned up, a man in a coat and broad brimmed hat was already headed our way. The engine finally died and we clambered out into the cold. 

Mr. David Fernald, the airport manager, warmly greeted us and complimented the little Luscombe. We explained our trip to which he replied that we had indeed made it. Right then and there it hit me that we had finally reach our destination, having gone as far north as we could get. Mr. David began sharing the story of Maine with us—its scenery, mountains, lakes, and deforestation. We were intrigued. He knew so much about the area and communicated it so well that we were enrapt. 

David and David in Frenchville

Mr. David suggested we get some lunch and lent us his van to go eat. He recommended a great little restaurant in the nearby town of St. Agatha, the Lakeview Restaurant. We loaded up and headed that way only to stop every few minutes to take pictures of the local terrain from our earthen perspective. 

Forrest's Intermingled with Birch

Lunch was excellent and the waitress readily brought my requests for Ginger Ale and Malt Vinegar for the fries, which usually cause double takes in the South. Stuffed to the brim, we headed back for the airport. Just a few minutes from the terminal Lars remembered that he had forgotten his card at the restaurant. We turned around and made the half hour round trip to pick it up. Once we were again nearing the terminal, I remembered I had forgotten to put some gas in the van, a common courtesy when using an airport car. Unfortunately, the only gas station was back in St. Agatha. Getting slightly peeved at this point, we turned around again and made another round trip!

A brief glance as we made the last turn into St. Agatha revealed a little dock right on Long Lake. After gassing up we made our way down there and walked out on the dock. The view was astounding. Thankfully this third trip hadn’t been in waste.

Long Lake

We finally made it back to the Frenchville Airport, talked some more with Mr. David and his wife, gassed up, and propped off. As we prepared to depart the overcast of the cold front had caught up with us and the wind switched just after we chose our runway. Thankfully Mr. David noted this change and alerted us over the UNICOM. Departing to the southeast we started racing the cold front’s encroachment.

Not far out of Frenchville, Lars observed the left cowl door hinge pin working loose. We diverted into the town of Caribou and were able to push it back in. After adding just two gallons of gas, we now had the range to make it to our final stop for the day, Eastport, Maine—the easternmost point in the U.S. 

In Caribou with Front Approaching

By this point we had figured out the cold and were well prepared with our pillows, sleeping bags, and even more warm clothing. We waged a good war against the cold and were able to stay somewhat comfortable on this long leg. Tailwinds gracefully pushed us along the easternmost border with Canada. The island-filled coast finally came into view and we made our approach into Eastport. 

Only Slightly Cold Now

We misjudged the wind and I attempted to land to the west. This was a double mistake as it turned out the sun was in our eyes and down near the ground we had a tailwind. One bounce put a quick end to that attempt so we tear-dropped back around for the east facing runway, which was both pointed away from the sun and into the ever faithful sea breeze.

Tied Down in Eastport

Our accommodations in Eastport had been arranged late in the day so there were no amenities other than grass for the tent at the airport. Thankfully a campground took our last-minute reservation for a tent site. We gathered up our gear and made the walk to the now deserted tent site. We looked for nearby restaurants on Google and found the nearest ones were all closed. To our surprise nothing fast-food popped up—we were on an island, after all. We ate a little from our lunch box, ditched the idea of a shower, and went to sleep in our clothes to fight off the approaching cold. 

FSO-8B0-MLT-FVE-CAR-EPM, 7.6 Hours, 6 Landings

From Kitty Hawk to Corn Country by Luscombe

Hello Friends, Lars and I have started out today on our next adventure from Kitty Hawk, NC to Omaha, NE, my new home. We will be following the Atlantic down to Key West and then back up to New Orleans. From there we will follow the Mississippi River to St. Louis and from there take the Missouri River up to Omaha. 

Be sure to check our Instagram and Twitter, @theoldsoulcfis, for daily updates.

Mississippi to Maine by Luscombe: Day 4

Our alarms woke us dark and early in the meeting room of EAA Chapter 5 in Geauga, Ohio. We packed and prepared for a day of eastbound travel, hopefully dodging some weather to make our break for the cool and clear upper northeast.

Staying low, flat Ohio farm country slowly yielded to rolling hill farmland. A line on our GPS signaled our crossing into Pennsylvania. The rectangular tracks of fields cut into the Pennsylvania forests slowly grew rugged. Hills rose in low mountains and valleys. Beautiful little farming communities sat nestled in the valleys and along rivers and lakes.

Pennsylvania

Soon the mountains grew in elevation. The haze increased and clouds started to come down to meet us. We pressed on through some occasional turbulence to St. Mary’s Airport, the namesake of the nearby town. The winds were stiff but, thankfully, right down the runway. We taxied in and shut down right next to the fuel. Climbing out onto the windy ramp, I was hit with cold for the first time. My unpreparedness also hit me. No long sleeves or winter clothing had been jammed into my bags. Thankfully, Lars was doubly prepared.

Downwind at Saint Mary's

An open hangar housing some Stearman biplanes beckoned and we made our way over after fueling up. Two guys were working on a wing and they stopped to introduce themselves. It was only 7:30 in the morning but they were already busy. We hadn’t eaten anything leaving Geauga so we asked about a crew car. Unfortunately, the airport’s car was down for maintenance but one gentleman kindly offered us his truck and a recommendation to drive into town for some breakfast. We gratefully accepted!

Climbing into the loaner pickup, it suddenly hit us–we were borrowing a chain smokers ride! But beggars can’t be choosers so we attempted to make our way into town. My directions weren’t the greatest and Lars had to make a few U-turns before we finally made it to Monica’s, a local diner. 

A big breakfast was enjoyed for a reasonable price and then we made our way back to the airport. Weather was looking tricky at this point but we knew we could make it into middle New York before we would get stuck for several hours waiting for a front to pass. We chose our next fuel stop directly east of us and we continued our jaunt over the Poconos to Seamans Airport.

The approach into Seamans is quite beautiful over a little river valley with a town tucked against the water. We landed, gassed up, and looked around for an FBO. Nothing looked very FBOish so we continued walking around, looking. A house right on the ramp looked like the closest thing to an FBO so we made our way up the stairs to find it closed.

'903 at Seamans

The only folks around were two guys talking in a maintenance shed. I made my way over and stood by as they had a lively discussion. After a few minutes, one of them turned around and surprisingly asked, “What do you want?” Shocked, I told the man I was looking for a restroom and he said he would be with me in a few minutes.

A little while later he hopped into his truck and drove in reverse at high speed over to the little house and let us in. From the looks of it, this was his combination house/FBO. We thanked him and he warmed up to us a bit. We checked the weather and found our gap. Two big bands of storms were moving west to east with one just passing over Rome, New York. The second one was about an hour out from Rome and later that afternoon it would all pass over and be VFR again.

Pictures Don't Do Upstate New York Justice

The scenery of upstate New York was captivating. The lighting was perfect and the colors were alive in the fields, forests, and mountains. We beelined for Rome and made it in just as the winds started to pick up from the next oncoming band. The 12,000 ft runway, huge hangars, and static display B-52 quietly made mention of the airport’s heritage as a SAC bomber base.

Taxiing in to Million Air, we found a spot right between the building and a Cessna. We waited for a lineman but no one ever came, so we shut down and chalked the Luscombe. Just as we were getting ready to walk in, a lineman ran out and yelled out, “You can’t park that close to the building, you’re going to have to move!” Thankfully, he helped us push back and tie down well away from the building, even though we weren’t really that close to begin with.

We got a courtesy car and two amazing ten-dollar coupons for lunch and made our way into town to eat. Raspberries Café was quite good–complete with cheesecake for dessert. Heading back to Million Air, we prepared to hunker down and wait out the weather. Thankfully, Million Air had some five-star crew rest rooms complete with recliners and freshly washed blankets. I was dead to the world for the next two hours.

Waking up, we found the weather to be marginally agreeable. We called ahead to the airport manager at Swanton, Vermont and made arrangements for the night. He was kind enough to arrange a hangar to stay in and a truck for us to use for the evening.

Our route to Swanton took us over the Adirondack Mountains, a largely wilderness mountain range which stood firmly in our way. Departing Rome, we stayed under a broken layer and headed into the Adirondacks. It didn’t take long for the clouds to start to lower and the sense of desolation to settle in. We decided to try to climb above the layer but just as we made it around or above one cloud the next one was higher and we had to go back down.

The Start of Our Broken Layer

Looking around, we saw that the holes were closing up. This wasn’t a fun situation to be in. Thankfully, we found a good hole and made our way back down. We were now firmly in Marginal VFR, in the mountains with no survival kit, no flight plan, and no radio contact. The cold was also creeping in and I was greatly mad at myself for removing the cabin heater hose which had been spewing heat on my feet back in toasty southern Mississippi.

Marginal VFR in the Adirondacks

The only savior we had was our SPOT satellite locator. The ceilings were angling down to the mountain tops on our right but were higher to our left. Thankfully, we had an out if needed. We stayed at mountain top level gently weaving through the valleys.

Mountains and Moisture Meet

Finally, the valleys opened into flatter lands around Adirondack Regional and the ceilings lifted into clear skies! We breathed sighs of relief and continued on. Soon, Lake Champlain came into sight and we were agog with the view. As we continued toward the lake, strange transmissions started coming in over the radio. They were muffled at first but we could tell they weren’t English. Suddenly, we got a clear transmission and realized they were French! Turns out it was the French Canadians on the other side of the border making their normal CTAF calls on the same CTAF frequencies used in the U.S.

Clear Skies Ahead!

Lake Champlain passed underneath sparkling and clear. We made our approach and tied down as a golf cart came out to meet us. Mr. George, the gentleman who was going to let us stay in his hangar, waited for us to arrive. He showed us to the truck and then took us to his hangar for the tour. He had quite the little apartment in the back. We unpacked a little and then took the truck into town and ate at the Swanton House of Pizza. Being from the south, I found the high prices and little soda cups to be out of whack.

After dinner, the sun was almost to the horizon so we spent the rest of the light at a pier on Lake Champlain before driving around the shore and through some farm country. We retired not long after sunset, excited to make it into Maine the following day.

Lake Champlain

Swanton Scenery

7G8-OYM-9N3-RME-FSO, 6.5 Hours, 4 Landings

Mississippi to Maine by Luscombe: Day 3

This morning, our natural alarm clock was the chorus of croaking West Virginia frogs instead of birds as in Alabama. Filled with a little breakfast from the lunch box, we packed up our things and readied the airplane. Bad weather to the east pushed our course further to the west and we looked to time our landing right in Ohio so that we would be on the ground before some other thunderstorms rolled in from the northwest.

The terrain on the Ohio side of the river looked similar to the West Virginia side but a little more inviting. Staying low, we followed the rolling hills northwest for over an hour.

The Last of the Rolling Hills

Slowly, the hills got wider, flatter, and farther apart. Crossing a few low ridges, we crossed into level farm country—the rather abrupt change in terrain came just as the gentleman at Newlon the day before had told us. Supposedly, that’s as far south as the glaciers got in the last ice age.

Changing Terrain

We continued on, soaking in the sights and smells that only come when flying below 1,000 ft AGL. We arrived at our next fuel stop, Rhodes Field, in south-central Ohio. It was too early for anyone to be in but we made the obligatory fuel purchase, bathroom run, and photo session.

We pressed on towards Springfield Airport, just east of Dayton, Ohio and arrived as the winds and gusts were picking up with the approach of the frontal storms. We gassed up and for once. firmly secured the airplane in a tie down with our own ropes. We hoped to get an Uber to get to the Air Force Museum but the guy at the FBO counter laughed and said a round trip would cost almost $100. He mentioned they had a courtesy car and would let us take it to the museum. In disbelief, I asked about the time limit to which the reply came, “Well, we close at 7:00.” Enough said! We grabbed the keys and hightailed it out of there, thankful for such an opportunity.

We missed some turns but eventually made it to the museum. Besides some school groups ,the museum wasn’t too busy and we made our way through the first two bays of hangars. Lars was taking plenty of pictures and left me in the dust to climb through a B-29 exhibit. It hit me then and there that I was weak with hunger. Lars made it through the exhibit and found me on the other end ready for lunch. We limped to the Valkyrie Café and ate a filling, yet rather expensive and not-so-delicious, meal typical of museums.

The XB-70 Valkyrie

Bloated, we headed for the Cold War hangar. Lars just about had an attack when he saw the B-58 Hustler, our mutually favorite jet bomber of all time. From there Lars almost died again when he saw the XB-70 Valkyrie. We spent the most time there, in the Experimental and Test hangar, visiting some of our favorite high-speed low-drag aircraft of the last half of the twentieth century.

The B-58 Hustler

Sadly, the weather improved and it was time to get back to the Luscombe. We drove our free car back to Springfield, paid for our gas, made plans for the night and jumped back in ‘903. The air was surprisingly smooth and we stayed low again, soaking up the scenery of America’s farmland.

Fuel limits brought us to 8G1—a little airport south of Lake Erie. As we taxied in, an old-timer sat watching. We shut down, gassed up, and talked airplanes with him. As I was getting ready to run in and use the lil’ boy’s room, a little lady ran over to the fence. “Did that fuel pump give you any issues?” she hollered. “No, worked just fine!”

After walking out of the restroom, the little lady who had questioned me was gathering papers on a desk in the FBO. She introduced herself and asked about our airplane and travels. I gave her the short version of our trip and she was blown away. With an excited voice, she invited us to stay for their airport board meeting, likely to share the long version of our story. We kindly declined and got back on our way.

Our overnight plans had us stopping at Geauga County Airport, the home airport of the illustrious Katie Gross, a friend from the YJFC. Katie had begun her fascination with aviation at Geauga County and had an essential hand in helping her mentor, Mr. David, build and fly his Rans Coyote Experimental Airplane. Katie had contacted her EAA friends and they were waiting for us.

Not wanting to waste daylight, we hopped over to Erie-Ottawa Airport in Port Clinton, Ohio instead of heading directly for Geauga. I have spent many of my summers camping under the traffic pattern at Erie-Ottawa when my dad and I shot at the National Rifle Matches at nearby Camp Perry. I had always dreamt of flying into this airport and here we were, making it a reality.

We landed and taxied in. Thankfully, the FBO was still open and we got a little courtesy car to head into town for dinner. We ate at one of my favorite restaurants on earth, the aptly name Crosswind Café. We then devoured ice cream at the fine Toft’s Ice Cream Parlor, a local establishment specializing in dairy products.

Dropping the keys off at the now-closed FBO, we hopped back in the Luscombe, ready to fulfil a bucket list item—to land at all of the island airports just north of Port Clinton. Three of these Lake Erie islands rest on the American side of the border and have public airports on them.

The Lake Erie Islands

We made the short hop over to South Bass Island and made to two landings on their seagull-infested runway. Thankfully, the birds there are well-trained and stayed out of the way. We then hopped to Middle Bass and North Bass Islands making two touch-and-goes each at these picturesque little spots of land protruding from the lake.

Fog was starting to roll in by the time we got to North Bass and we enjoyed making our approaches through the mystically wispy moisture blanketed above the runway. All of these little airports use the same CTAF frequency—a neat and necessary feature for such closely collocated fields.

Done with our early evening foray, we headed east hopping over to the southern shore of Lake Erie. We enjoyed the view from our low path just off the shore. The visibility was unlimited and the shoreline seemed to stretch to infinity. After almost an hour of flying, downtown Cleveland came into sight. We stayed under the Bravo and called Lakefront Tower for a transition through their Class Delta to head inland for Geauga.

Downtown Cleveland

Just as the sun kissed the horizon, the runway at Geauga came into sight and we joined the pattern. Taxiing in, a gaggle made their way out of a nearby hangar towards our airplane. They greeted us and announced they were the delegation sent by Katie. They helped us gas up and prepped their meeting room for us to spend the night. Mr. David, Katie’s mentor, stayed for the next several hours to help me complete a 25-hour oil change, a necessary interval for my engine which only has an oil screen and no filter. He selflessly shared his time and tools at no charge. He also laughed off my accidentally spilling oil on him twice and dropping a pair of safety wire pliers into a deep bucket of old oil. He jollily remarked, “Well, those aren’t going to rust any time soon!”

The EAA Chapter 5 Welcome Party

Lars’s camera had been filling to the brim with all of our eager photography. All 32 GB of our storage was full, so Lars made a trip to the local store in a car kindly lent to us by Chapter 5. With storage card converter in hand, we were able to dump our photos online so we wouldn’t have to worry about budgeting the shutter.

We bedded down that night in the comfortable and air-conditioned room provided to us at no charge, thankful for the kindness so selflessly extended our way by the members of EAA Chapter 5.

Mississippi to Maine by Luscombe: Day 2

The birds in upper Alabama must wake up especially early—they had sung us awake well before dawn. I hadn’t slept that well anyway, thanks to my overinflated air-mattress. I don’t know how Lars possibly slept with his sleeping bag on the bare tent ground. We got up, packed up our equipment, and wolfed down breakfast. The sun beat us in our race to the sky before we could start the engine, but we didn’t miss it by much.

An Upper Alabama Sunrise

Departing Center-Piedmont, we strayed further into the start of the Appalachians as low as we could legally go. It was one of those perfect mornings for flying with incredibly smooth air, where all the airplane’s movements were truly only of the pilot’s hand. Rome, Georgia, a popular $100 Burger spot from Atlanta, poked around the corner of a low mountain.

The Start of the Appalachians

The real Appalachians appeared ahead. Though this wasn’t my first rodeo in an airplane that couldn’t out-climb a dead-end valley, we were going to have to be careful. Dan and I had made that run up into the Appalachians in his airplane once, but my only other mountain experience was in 180 hp Cessna 172s. We passed over a lake and it took me a minute to recognize that we were near Gilmer County. Even though we were in the mountains, they weren’t high enough yet to clearly register as an elevation change on our sectional. Lesson learned: get better at reading contour lines and elevations.

Valleys to Which Should Raise Concern

We threaded our way between two peaks following a road toward Blairsville, another common lunch stop out of Atlanta. A few minutes later, Atlanta and the coastal plain were back in sight! We had taken a wrong turn! Another lesson learned: if the chart shows an intersection between the mountains, make sure to avoid missing it or making the wrong turn. We were learning quickly and thankfully, the mountains weren’t tall enough yet to punish us for our transgressions.

We pressed on with Blairsville disappearing past the right wing. Another wrong turn put us in the wrong valley to get to our next fuel stop, Macon County in North Carolina. Thankfully, we were able to turn around again without an issue and keep on our way. The terrain had been beautiful so far but now the sights were becoming majestic. A little turbulence tried to discourage us, but we were able to avoid what we thought might have been the trouble areas.

Chatuge Lake marked our crossing from Georgia into North Carolina. Macon County Airport was just barely visible over the next ridgeline so we hopped over it and began our descent to land. A clueless sounding Piper Cherokee Six was on frequency and we landed before he started his mountain adventure, thankful to be in our Luscombe. A top off, a few pictures, and a restroom visit highlighted our visit and we were soon back on our way.

Resting at Macon County

Jackson County Airport rolled into view a few minutes later after we had climbed out of Macon County’s valley. We made a tailwind, downhill touch-and-go and then kept on our way. Not the brightest idea of the trip but it sure was fun!

Some more rugged mountains knocked our socks off east of Jackson County. The terrain eventually dropped off into a sweeping valley west of Asheville, NC. We followed the French Broad River back into the mountains and over into Tennessee for our next stop at the Elizabethton Municipal Airport, nested in the corner of a valley tucked up against the mountains on three sides. Lars and I spent many minutes wondering how Elizabethton was pronounced until a local on the ground overheard us try out every possible wrong way.

We tied down and were met by a line guy. As usual, he was looking at the wings for the fuel tanks so I pointed him to the fuselage tank. I warned him about how easy it is to overflow the tank and that, so far, every lineman had successfully made a 100 LL fountain out of my poor airplane and its paint job. He fervently accepted the challenge, almost as a bet, and went to get the truck.

I came back a few minutes later to find streaks on the fuselage and gas fumes in the cockpit. The Luscombe got another one! Since it was Mother’s Day we called our moms before heading to Beef ‘O’ Bradys for a lunch in their honor. We spent some time back at the FBO talking and looking at the weather. We were in no rush.

Elizabethton, TN

Convection and turbulence were making their way down the Appalachians, heading our way, so we made a drastic change of plans and shifted our eyes westward to avoid a nasty stationary front firmly entrenched over the Appalachians and east coast. We searched for a place to spend the night and came across Robert Newlon Field, a fly-in campground with a grass runway on the West Virginia side of the Ohio River. I was concerned because both Foreflight and FunPlacetoFly.com advertised only 2,300 ft of runway with obstructions on both ends. I called and asked the lady who picked up about the strip. Turns out, it was actually 3,000 ft with an overrun—Score!

We departed Elizabethton and headed out across West Virginia. The turbulence was churning both the air and our stomachs so we stayed fairly high. The unchanging hilly terrain of West Virginia astounded me. Here was a whole state of nothing but hills with almost no open terrain! The terrain was strewn with mines, clearly showing their damage to the landscape. Houses and little communities were sprinkled throughout the hills, especially along the rivers.

West Virginia

The Ohio River eventually came into sight and we made a low pass at Newlon. Everything looked clear. I made the approach and set us down with a little bit of a bounce. We slowed down and yawed to the right to make our turn for a taxi back. I went full rudder a little too quick and the Luscombe swung around nice and quick—so quick that the tailwheel unlocked and we were left stranded pointed for the ditch. Lars dove out and pushed the tail back into joint and we taxied in to the laughs of our onlookers.

New Friends at Newlon Field

They were good sports about it and greeted us warmly. We had a little gang hanging around the airplane for almost half an hour as we talked Luscombes and old taildraggers. They told us all about their little slice of heaven—the campground, the skydiving, the boat dock, and the restaurant. Newlon Field was quite the place and we took everything in, including the river.

The Ohio River

After resting and nodding off in the shade, we headed for the Fly In Café just up the hill from the runway. The food was great and the owner talked with us for quite a while about aviation and his plans for the airport. Dinner complete, we headed back outside and I got back in the Luscombe to take a few more laps for the video camera. Unfortunately, the pressure of being on film didn’t help with some landings but it was still fun. Editor’s note: that is the weakest excuse I’ve heard yet!

We made camp for the night as the sun set, took our showers, and tried to nod off in the West Virginia heat, sweltering even at night. Sweat poured off my face but we finally wised up and opened the tent flaps. A little breeze and the cool night air rushed in and we dozed off.

PYP-1A5-24A-0A9-I41, 6.7 Hours, 9 Landings

Mississippi to Maine by Luscombe: Day 1

The alarm went off extra early. I eagerly rose and dressed. Today was the start of the biggest trip of my life so far. Our goal: fly from Mississippi to Maine and back again, all in the Luscombe. Lars had also stirred and we gathered our camping gear and clothes together and loaded up in the truck. It was still dark outside as we made our way to Ocean Springs Airport. 

This was Lars’s first time seeing ‘903 and he was enthralled. I had a few maintenance to-dos to complete and got to work. Lars took off the hubcaps and we checked to make sure that the hub nuts I had installed the afternoon before were still tight. Thankfully, they were still snug.

Final Checks Complete

We managed to cram most of our essentials into the minuscule aft baggage compartment of the Luscombe and then pulled the airplane out for fuel. By this point, the sun was up, bright, and hot. Sweat was already building on my brow. The Continental initially took some encouragement to start but soon it smoothly purred along as we back-taxied out for departure.

Remember that I said we had gotten most of our stuff into the baggage compartment? Well, Lars had his hands full with our lunch box and his camera case as we departed. Once we were airborne I took one of the bags in my lap and we retraced the tracks I had made to the west the last few days as we headed for our first stop of the trip, Shade Tree. Leaving the Gulfport Delta to the north, we noticed that the intercom started to act up. The right-side button was sticking which was messing up not only the intercom, but also the integral radio. 

A Tight Fit with Everything Aboard

The button was constant trouble but the left intercom worked okay so we worked out a system with only one button, although we did agree it was going to be an interesting trip with the issue. We joined the pattern at Shade Tree and made a decent wheel-landing. The Saturday morning peanut gallery was out in force. An older gentleman who was well acquainted with Luscombes, complimented my landing but told me to try slowing it down a little in the future. I thanked him and filed his advice away to be remembered. 

I told Mr. Danny our issue with the intercom and he found some contact cleaner which did the trick on our PTT intercom. It never caused another problem. We watched a Stearman and RV-12 depart then headed out ourselves, bound for my glider club, the Coastal Soaring Association in Elsanor, Alabama.

We headed back for the coast and then turned east. I pointed out Ocean Springs, Pascagoula, and Mobile as we followed the shoreline. As we neared Mobile Bay, I pushed the little Luscombe’s nose down towards the water and then south. We headed over to Dauphin Island at low level and came up just enough to join a left base for a touch and go at Denton Airport's peninsula runway. 

On the upwind, we passed over the south shore of Dauphin Island and once again pointed the nose eastward. We followed the barrier islands along the east side of the bay and then climbed up enough to make it over land toward Elsanor. The gliders were already up in flocks around the area and were struggling to hear our transmissions so we waited a few minutes before cautiously joining the pattern for a landing on the upsloping runway 27. 

My airspeed and pattern were all wrong and I initiated a go-around at about mid-field. Elsanor is only 2,400 ft long and the trees at the end rushed underneath a bit too close for comfort. We stayed in the pattern and I got the energy down enough to make a proper landing. Nobody on the ground complained and agreed that the go-around was the right decision. 

Eric, my buddy from school, had agreed to meet us for a ride in the glider and the Luscombe. Both Lars and Eric went up in the front seat of our club’s Grob 103 with me flying from the backseat. They both thoroughly enjoyed the ride. We then switched to the Luscombe and both Jefferson and Evelyn, our two favorite kids at the Gliderport, went for a spin.

'903 Enjoying the Sun at Elsanor

Since Elsanor is fairly short and we were heavy with baggage, we decided to offload all of our stuff into Eric’s car and he agreed to meet us over at Foley Airport about ten miles away. I beat Eric and Lars there by a few minutes and got the airplane gassed up and tied down. 

We broke for lunch and had a great pizza at a local Italian restaurant. Eric drove us back to the airport and we said our goodbyes. Foley is one of the Navy’s contracted locations for pilot flight screening. Some very jealous pilots-to-be watched us pack the Luscombe and depart.

We started our great trek north with our first stop for the night planned at Center-Piedmont Airport. I had called the airport manager the day before and he kindly granted our request to camp and use their showers. With only fourteen gallons in a full tank, the Luscombe is not exactly a long-distance cross-country machine. Our fuel got us to Prattville, Alabama, just west of Montgomery. The coastal plain was business as usual for me and it wasn’t until we departed Prattville that we started to notice the terrain. 

We stayed low and set course for the valley which runs from Anniston up to Center-Piedmont. Not long after takeoff, I realized we were going to pass right over the Coosa River. It clicked right then and there to both of us that this trip wasn’t simply about the destination—it was truly about the journey itself. As soon as we got to the Coosa, we dropped down some more and followed the river for forty miles. 

The Coosa

The rolling hills around us started to turn into low ridges, valleys, and mountains. We turned northeast, leaving the Coosa behind, and followed a valley to the town of Talladega before heading on to Anniston. Talladega’s famous racetrack passed a few miles off our left wing. Soon we were over Anniston, where my dad had worked for six years. We then continued up the valley towards even more familiar terrain. 

My old hometown of Jacksonville and a flood of sweet memories swept into view but something wasn’t right. Many roofs throughout the town were bright blue. It all came back to me and I remembered the recent tornado which has swept through the town. We circled in somber silence observing the destruction left behind. I saw my old house and many other familiar landmarks. We continued on, enjoying the sights and smells of this familiar valley so impressed on my childhood memory. 

The airport came into view and we joined the pattern and landed. The sun was almost gone but we refueled, used the bathroom and I hopped back into the airplane for a few laps in the pattern for Lars’s camera. We set up camp by the main hangar, took showers, and ate dinner out of the lunch box. 

Sunset in Piedmont

Sleep came quickly despite the continued adventure which awaited us at sunrise.

5R2-MS82-4R9-1AL4-5R4-1A9-PYP, 7.0 Hours, 8 Landings