Fly-In

Two little hyphenated words that move me to action. On this, I’m not alone. Pilots love to go to fly-ins. I visit websites to learn about new events, receive email alerts, and plan well in advance those I wish to attend. My first one was in 2003 just after starting flying lessons. I drove in since I had yet to solo and anyway it was held at my home airport, Chehalis (CLS). I practically jumped up and down in excitement at planes coming and going, and parked in rows for visitor admiration. I was proud to be a pilot in training and nervously approached a few pilots, eager to be a member of what appeared to be a very exclusive club. The pilots were welcoming and seemed as eager to share their experiences and aircraft as I was to learn. I immediately felt at home and vowed that someday I would fly to a fly-in and share my aviation excitement and knowledge with visitors walking along the line of planes.

It was May of 2005 when I fulfilled that goal. With a friend, one of those pilots created by Russ, I flew into Concrete (3W5) to attend my first fly-in as a pilot in my own plane. It just couldn’t get any better than that. But it did. The runway was lined with people watching (and grading) the landings and mine was one to be proud of – not always possible under pressure. For several hours I wandered among the other planes, visiting with pilots, taking photos and soaking up aviation at its best. Concrete is a beautifully maintained airport with swaths of mowed grass, landscaped hangars full of collector quality aircraft and cars, and a top-notch pilots lounge. A local group called the Black Jacks awed with their formation flying overhead. I sat under Isabo’s wing, talking to passers-by and there it was, another goal met, another memory to savor.

Since then I’ve been to many fly-ins, some good, others less so, but all an opportunity to meet new friends, learn and share all things aviation. Many events include military aircraft on the ground and demonstration flights. Others offer airshows, beautiful cars, or remote control planes.


The pilots of these remote control aircraft provide impressive shows of their skills and aircraft.

Even a poor hamburger tastes like heaven when eaten while watching a Coast Guard helicopter rescue demo.
This is the State Patrol's Cessna 206 equipped with special aerial camera equipment.

Here I am with a Cessna 195 at Concrete this year. Someday, when I win the lottery, I'll own one of these beautiful birds.

Love Affair with Mountains

Mt. Saint Helens

It was while on The Great Adventure that I stopped fearing mountains. Crossing the Cascades and several sections of the Rockies twice, provided some familiarity.

Mt. Adams

But it was when I attended the Mountain Flying Clinic held out of the Wenatchee (EAT) airport that my obsession with peaks began. M and I flew our Cessna’s over for the 2005 weekend clinic. Me in my172, M in her 206. We were the only women at the event and enjoyed the rare pleasure of watching men line up for a bathroom while we walked right on in. Sweet!
I went up with Al, a CFI and mountain search and rescue pilot. He had a lot to teach me and I paid attention and soaked it up.
“First we are going to get a practical introduction to density altitude”, he announced. “Take off, but you can only use 1800 rpm’s. This will simulate a hot day at high altitude.” It did. Poor Isabo waddled down the runway eating up three-quarters of it before finally finding the air. Lesson clear.
We flew south following the Columbia river, which lies low among rising terrain on both sides. Pointing to the hill/mountain ahead and towering above, Al said, “Can you make it over that hill?” I assured him I could not. He instructed me to turn into a cleft in the hill saying “Well, then. Let’s see.” As we started up, Al instructed on several important facets of flying into rising terrain, ravines and blind canyons.

“Fly close to one side”, he urged. “No, get way over, close.” Feeling like the wing was already about to scrape rock I hesitated, so taking the controls he demonstrated getting in next to terrain. Whoa. That close. It turned out that a 172 didn’t have the power to make it over directly, but there were solutions. Al instructed on flying with 10 degrees of flaps, thus keeping it slow so turns in tight spaces could be made while avoiding getting too steep and stalling the wing. I learned how to seek the uplift from rising air above sun drenched rocks, how to approach a ridge, how to avoid downdrafts and how to avoid flying into mountains my plane could not surmount or canyons too narrow to turn around in. The challenge was exhilarating, resulting in my earning a lot of respect for mountains, while increasing my comfort with flying among them.

Sawtooth range, Redfish Lake, Idaho

Later in the year, I flew over to McCall Idaho for their fly-in and mountain flying clinics. Here I learned about landing on high mountain strips.

Mountains became and still are, my friends. When I’ve had a bad day, I go and play with my friends, soaring along their sides, skimming their trees, exploring their hidden places. And always, taking pictures of their beauty so during times when I cannot fly, I can relive the peace they bring.

The Great Adventure - Part 3 - Homeward

With our final member, Clay, arriving on Sunday we readied for a dawn departure.
Monday the 14th. First leg a short hop to Michigan City (MGC) in Indiana. M took off, made a good-bye pass over the field and I lifted Isabo off behind her. We coordinated as best we could, discovering that the hand held radio in the Hawker provided less than ideal communications between planes. We lost touch prior to reach MGC but heard M entering the pattern. As I entered downwind, I noted the Hawker on the runway and then that it was in an unusual attitude. “Clay, the plane is on the ground nose down! She’s crashed!” I blurted.

With Clay beside himself with worry, I immediately called the emergency frequency declaring a plane down on the runway and then carefully made one of my best short field landings ever, coming to a stop a few yards from the downed plane. By this time M was out, and we saw with relief that she was unharmed. Unfortunately the same could not be said for the Hawker Fury – she was done flying for the foreseeable future. Her right main landing gear had failed just after touchdown, collapsing so the nose and prop dove into the runway.

Al, our Watervliet host, arrived with friends to help. They drug the Hawker to parking, removed her wings and loaded her into a big rental truck. Clay made the decision to drive home while M and I flew Isabo. This was a sad chapter in the trip, basically bringing it to an end, at least as planned.

The Great Adventure -Part 2 - Days at Watervliet

Our host, Al, at Watervliet, is well known around the flying community, eager to help and inspires action in others. He provided an SUV for our use and helped us settle in at the Paw Paw Motel in Coloma Michigan, just a few miles from the field.

The rest of the week M worked with a local aircraft mechanic getting the Hawker ready for her flight west. The plane had been in storage for several years so systems needed to be checked, minor repairs made. Rain arrived on Wednesday, continuing through Thursday and Friday, often at torrential levels. M test flew the Hawker during patches of clearing with rooster tails streaming behind as she taxied for takeoff.

Friday afternoon I went to check on Isabo and found her up to her wheel pants in swamped grass and her cargo area had visible standing water! I panicked – here was my precious girl full of water – her rugs soaked. The guys hustled around and found hangar space. I spent hours sopping up water and trying to suck rugs dry with a shop vac. Unbolted the rear seat to get the carpet out and was thrilled that rear and front were separate sections. The front was dry. No moisture into the avionics. It took the next two days, and a Laundromat dryer before the rugs were dry.

I was not aware of this, and I don’t believe M was either, but the Hawker Fury getting back in the air was a big event locally. People came from all over the area, including one man and his son who drove clear from Chicago hoping to watch her fly. There was a nearly constant stream of visitors. They would hang around talking with each other, offering advice and celebrating when the Hawker took to the air. It was all so very festive, that pouring rain didn’t dampen spirits.