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.
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.
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.
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.
