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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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
