Category: RANS S12-XL

In the Fall of 2005, I was contacted by Bill Strahan and asked if I would provide him with an article that would be published on their web site: Adventure Pilot.  I did, and it was subsequently published on October 20, 2005.  Below is the article.

Mr. Strahan later helped create, design and publish the iFly GPS software and has turned it into a burgeoning business.  Somewhere along the way, the original article that I wrote disappeared which is why I’m posting it below.

 

A Day At The Beach by Robert Laird, Oct 2005

Assuming you live within a reasonable distance to some large body of water, when you hear someone exclaim, “Let’s go to the beach!”, it always conveys a certain joy, a feeling that you CAN escape your problems, if you merely “go to the beach.” Immediate thoughts of sand and surf, wind and sun, seagulls and sunbathers, fill your head and you can almost smell the humid air and feel the first welcome spray of water.Texas has over 600 miles of coastline, and most of it has a nice sandy beach attached. Living within an hour of that coastline, I will sometimes hear from my fellow pilots, “Let’s go to the beach!” But rather than tossing baskets of food, plastic buckets and shovels, sunscreen and beach chairs into the Woody, we head for the airport, do a preflight and double-check the wind. Going to the beach in an airplane has it’s own set of sensations, benefits, and welcome memories. Now, I suppose if you’re a Bonanza pilot, “Let’s go to the beach” means a quick zip down and another quick zip back to the airport. Or perhaps the highlight might be a $100 hamburger at some inland airport, and the beach was just a detour. To truly enjoy the beach, to relish the experience, to see what there is to see, you have to go low and slow, so that calls out for a light-sport aircraft or an ultralight. You won’t see that Bonanza pilot landing on the beach, either, but I do it regularly in my small experimental. So, when I think of going to the beach in my plane, I think of walking around getting the sand between my toes, and hunting for seashells on deserted stretches. No, you Bonanza pilots are not going to have nearly as much fun! If you don’t count the inlets, bays, and so forth, there is a linear distance from the Louisiana border to the Mexico border of about 350 miles. I’m quite familiar with a 200 mile stretch starting near High Island (about 60 miles SE of Houston), down to Mustang Beach on North Padre Island. For most of that stretch, there is a beach wide enough on which to land a slow-flying LSA or ultralight. The sand looks somewhat “dirty” (more than a normal amount of silt and clay mixed in) in the Houston/Galveston/Freeport area, but once you get further south, it starts to look a lot whiter (less silty). Most of the time, the sand is fairly hard, sometimes rock hard.  Occasionally there will be a short stretch of dry, deep sand, what I like to call “fluffy.” That can mean trouble, but it’s usually not hard to spot. What’s more important is to find a level stretch, as the wave action tends to make small “valleys” and “hills” along the beach. These can make for a very stressful landing, for both the aircraft and the pilot. The angle of the sun, cloud cover, homogeneity of the sand, and other factors can make spotting these hills and valleys difficult or easy. Typically, though, if you’re at 20 feet and you look down the beach at the waves, and they seem to all come ashore at about the same time, and not bunched up, then you’re probably okay. Aside from the legal questions, the actual process of landing on a beach can be problematic. Having a long “runway” is best, of course, and it should go without saying that driftwood looks good sculpted on tables, but not on the “runway.” The Texas coastal beaches are not very steep, as a rule, so there’s no need to be too concerned about a slope, but you can expect one wheel to touchdown first, so be prepared. Also, be very aware of any dunes that might be close to the water, and make sure your wings will easily clear them. It would ruin your day, and many other things, if you clipped a dune! Some stretches have lots of seashells and they, like gravel, can cause problems if one gets kicked up by a wheel and thrown into the prop. Naturally, you should be sure your landing spot is long enough for your take off roll. More than once a friend of mine would have to walk down the beach and move a piece of driftwood out of the way because they landed okay, but later realized they needed a bit more room to take off! And don’t forget to watch the tide! The last thing you want is for your runway to disappear on you! It’s always a good idea before you leave to look at a tide table to know if it’s coming in or going out for the time period involved. Like any skill learned while piloting your aircraft, all these issues are things you can learn to deal with. The end result is a “day at the beach” you won’t likely forget. You’ll have the unique opportunity to find your own remote place to settle down on to, get out, stretch your legs, hunt for seashells, have a drink and a snack (if you thought ahead and brought them!), and even camp overnight. Many of my friends have done overnight campouts on parcels of sand that you couldn’t get to any other way (except by boat, and even then it’d be a long boat ride!). I’ve often flown my aircraft down the beach and enjoyed the unique attributes of that setting. The wind along the Texas coast almost always blows from the Southeast. So, assuming I’m flying back from Mustang Island, the wind will hit be me from the front starboard quarter. I can then crab into the wind, and have a “front seat”, looking down the beach out my port-side window with nothing in front of me. That’s always a real joy! Another joy is that the constant wind is absent any thermals, since the wind is coming right off the water. So it’s smooth sailing, even in the middle of the day. That is certainly worth the cost of admission! That steady 30 degree crosswind makes for a great opportunity to perfect my slipping skills. It didn’t take many trips down the beach for me to be able to slip my plane so well, I could keep just a single wheel on the ground.  Then I learned how to flip the slip and put the other wheel on the ground, too. I always laughed thinking about someone who might find this single tire track in the sand, going for hundreds of yards. Would they think it was a unicycle with a very wide tire? And where did it come from, and where did it go? That big grin you get because you’re flying just gets bigger because you’re having even more fun! To make sure it’s all fun, you should do a little checking, first. Some states, like Texas, make their beaches open to the public by default. So, as long as I stay on the beach, and that I keep away from people, cars, buildings, and other structures, I typically won’t run into any legal trouble. However, some individual counties might have their own rules about landing an aircraft anywhere except at an airport. Almost all of the law enforcement types I’ve encountered have been very friendly, stopping to chat about the plane, but occasionally you get someone that’s had a bad day. In those cases, I try to plead ignorance, and so far I’ve been “let off” as long as I didn’t do it again. Generally, though, common sense should keep you out of trouble, as long as you don’t do anything dangerous and or anything that someone might complain about. You should always stay at 2000 feet above a National Seashore, and a bare minimum of 500 feet away from any people, houses, etc. But even at 500 feet, it’s close enough to see the expression on people’s faces, and it’s fun to wave at them. 99.9% of the time, they wave back. You should also keep a pretty sharp lookout ahead of you, in case there’s another pilot enjoying the scenery, but heading your way! Oh, and, if you’re flying over salt water as I do, then be sure to give your aircraft a good bath after your return to your home airport! Going to the beach is a whole new way to enjoy your aircraft. What could be better than flying at 20 feet, watching the waves break on the beach, enjoy the smooth air, waving at people, seeing more of the beach, dunes, tidal flats, etc. that you would miss if you were just driving on the beach. Expand your horizons even more, and enjoy a day at the beach! [End]

 

 

In the Fall of 2005, I was contacted by Bill Strahan and asked if I would provide him with an article that would be published on their web site: Adventure Pilot.  I did, and it was subsequently published on October 20, 2005.  Below is the article.

Mr. Strahan later helped create, design and publish the iFly GPS software and has turned it into a burgeoning business.  Somewhere along the way, the original article that I wrote disappeared which is why I’m posting it below.

 

A Day At The Beach by Robert Laird, Oct 2005

Assuming you live within a reasonable distance to some large body of water, when you hear someone exclaim, “Let’s go to the beach!”, it always conveys a certain joy, a feeling that you CAN escape your problems, if you merely “go to the beach.” Immediate thoughts of sand and surf, wind and sun, seagulls and sunbathers, fill your head and you can almost smell the humid air and feel the first welcome spray of water.Texas has over 600 miles of coastline, and most of it has a nice sandy beach attached. Living within an hour of that coastline, I will sometimes hear from my fellow pilots, “Let’s go to the beach!” But rather than tossing baskets of food, plastic buckets and shovels, sunscreen and beach chairs into the Woody, we head for the airport, do a preflight and double-check the wind. Going to the beach in an airplane has it’s own set of sensations, benefits, and welcome memories. Now, I suppose if you’re a Bonanza pilot, “Let’s go to the beach” means a quick zip down and another quick zip back to the airport. Or perhaps the highlight might be a $100 hamburger at some inland airport, and the beach was just a detour. To truly enjoy the beach, to relish the experience, to see what there is to see, you have to go low and slow, so that calls out for a light-sport aircraft or an ultralight. You won’t see that Bonanza pilot landing on the beach, either, but I do it regularly in my small experimental. So, when I think of going to the beach in my plane, I think of walking around getting the sand between my toes, and hunting for seashells on deserted stretches. No, you Bonanza pilots are not going to have nearly as much fun! If you don’t count the inlets, bays, and so forth, there is a linear distance from the Louisiana border to the Mexico border of about 350 miles. I’m quite familiar with a 200 mile stretch starting near High Island (about 60 miles SE of Houston), down to Mustang Beach on North Padre Island. For most of that stretch, there is a beach wide enough on which to land a slow-flying LSA or ultralight. The sand looks somewhat “dirty” (more than a normal amount of silt and clay mixed in) in the Houston/Galveston/Freeport area, but once you get further south, it starts to look a lot whiter (less silty). Most of the time, the sand is fairly hard, sometimes rock hard.  Occasionally there will be a short stretch of dry, deep sand, what I like to call “fluffy.” That can mean trouble, but it’s usually not hard to spot. What’s more important is to find a level stretch, as the wave action tends to make small “valleys” and “hills” along the beach. These can make for a very stressful landing, for both the aircraft and the pilot. The angle of the sun, cloud cover, homogeneity of the sand, and other factors can make spotting these hills and valleys difficult or easy. Typically, though, if you’re at 20 feet and you look down the beach at the waves, and they seem to all come ashore at about the same time, and not bunched up, then you’re probably okay. Aside from the legal questions, the actual process of landing on a beach can be problematic. Having a long “runway” is best, of course, and it should go without saying that driftwood looks good sculpted on tables, but not on the “runway.” The Texas coastal beaches are not very steep, as a rule, so there’s no need to be too concerned about a slope, but you can expect one wheel to touchdown first, so be prepared. Also, be very aware of any dunes that might be close to the water, and make sure your wings will easily clear them. It would ruin your day, and many other things, if you clipped a dune! Some stretches have lots of seashells and they, like gravel, can cause problems if one gets kicked up by a wheel and thrown into the prop. Naturally, you should be sure your landing spot is long enough for your take off roll. More than once a friend of mine would have to walk down the beach and move a piece of driftwood out of the way because they landed okay, but later realized they needed a bit more room to take off! And don’t forget to watch the tide! The last thing you want is for your runway to disappear on you! It’s always a good idea before you leave to look at a tide table to know if it’s coming in or going out for the time period involved. Like any skill learned while piloting your aircraft, all these issues are things you can learn to deal with. The end result is a “day at the beach” you won’t likely forget. You’ll have the unique opportunity to find your own remote place to settle down on to, get out, stretch your legs, hunt for seashells, have a drink and a snack (if you thought ahead and brought them!), and even camp overnight. Many of my friends have done overnight campouts on parcels of sand that you couldn’t get to any other way (except by boat, and even then it’d be a long boat ride!). I’ve often flown my aircraft down the beach and enjoyed the unique attributes of that setting. The wind along the Texas coast almost always blows from the Southeast. So, assuming I’m flying back from Mustang Island, the wind will hit be me from the front starboard quarter. I can then crab into the wind, and have a “front seat”, looking down the beach out my port-side window with nothing in front of me. That’s always a real joy! Another joy is that the constant wind is absent any thermals, since the wind is coming right off the water. So it’s smooth sailing, even in the middle of the day. That is certainly worth the cost of admission! That steady 30 degree crosswind makes for a great opportunity to perfect my slipping skills. It didn’t take many trips down the beach for me to be able to slip my plane so well, I could keep just a single wheel on the ground.  Then I learned how to flip the slip and put the other wheel on the ground, too. I always laughed thinking about someone who might find this single tire track in the sand, going for hundreds of yards. Would they think it was a unicycle with a very wide tire? And where did it come from, and where did it go? That big grin you get because you’re flying just gets bigger because you’re having even more fun! To make sure it’s all fun, you should do a little checking, first. Some states, like Texas, make their beaches open to the public by default. So, as long as I stay on the beach, and that I keep away from people, cars, buildings, and other structures, I typically won’t run into any legal trouble. However, some individual counties might have their own rules about landing an aircraft anywhere except at an airport. Almost all of the law enforcement types I’ve encountered have been very friendly, stopping to chat about the plane, but occasionally you get someone that’s had a bad day. In those cases, I try to plead ignorance, and so far I’ve been “let off” as long as I didn’t do it again. Generally, though, common sense should keep you out of trouble, as long as you don’t do anything dangerous and or anything that someone might complain about. You should always stay at 2000 feet above a National Seashore, and a bare minimum of 500 feet away from any people, houses, etc. But even at 500 feet, it’s close enough to see the expression on people’s faces, and it’s fun to wave at them. 99.9% of the time, they wave back. You should also keep a pretty sharp lookout ahead of you, in case there’s another pilot enjoying the scenery, but heading your way! Oh, and, if you’re flying over salt water as I do, then be sure to give your aircraft a good bath after your return to your home airport! Going to the beach is a whole new way to enjoy your aircraft. What could be better than flying at 20 feet, watching the waves break on the beach, enjoy the smooth air, waving at people, seeing more of the beach, dunes, tidal flats, etc. that you would miss if you were just driving on the beach. Expand your horizons even more, and enjoy a day at the beach! [End]

 

 

September 6, 2003

It has been a busy, but pleasant summer in Houston and surrounds, and September arrived with little change in that long streak of good weather. The group of flyers at Bailes had talked about planning a big trip to Mustang Island, flying with several other groups in the SE Texas area, but I just couldn’t wait. So I fired up my brother, Rick and John Reilly and persuaded them to make the long trek down the coastline to Mustang Island.

If you’ve followed along on my earlier trips, and if you glance at the map at the top, you’ll see that most of the territory had been covered on several other trips. It was that last little bit past the Matagorda Lighthouse that I hadn’t yet covered. But this would be the day!

I got an early start, with wheels up around 6am, and on my entry into the airspace around Bailes, I was greeted by Pastor Dave, flying along in his Quicksilver.

A quick landing, handshakes all around, and we were off.

On the way to the coast, I noticed a ferryboat, sitting up a river several miles from the coast. My guess is that it is being (or has been) mothballed.

As we approached the Gulf waters, I took advantage of the early morning lighting to get this silhouette of Rick in his Buccaneer.

Soon we were paralleling the beach, approaching a familiar grouping of houses in the Sargent Beach area, near Caney Creek.

Ahead and below me, flocks of brown pelican fly just above the water and dive for their morning meal.

The wind is warm, the familiar landscape passes by, I keep watch for my flying buddies and, soon enough, I see Pierce Field in the distance.

Its long, concrete runway beckons me…

…it’s there to be used and it misses the days during World War II when the plodding bombers would practice their touch-n-go’s. But we have another destination, today.

I was flying over the salt grass to get a better shot of Pierce, so to my left, now, is Rick, flying over the Colorado River jetty.

The water is already looking bluer and cleaner. The backflow from the Gulf Stream usually carries sandy water up toward Freeport and Galveston, but this far south it starts to clear up. Looking to my right, I can easily see across the narrow width of Matagorda peninsula, to the calmer waters of Matagorda Bay with Port O’Conner in the distance.

It seems many people are out enjoying the Bay on this pleasant Saturday morning.

We’re close to passing over from the peninsula to the island. We approach the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge and see the black, decapitated body of the old Matagorda Lighthouse.

You’ll forgive me if I take a lot of photos of it, as I don’t get down here too often! Click here for a pop-up window showing some history about the lighthouse.

A bit further down the island and we see the buildings that mark one of the rarely used runways within the Refuge. I’m not sure if it’s used at all, but from a distance it seemed to be in good condition.

Below me in the water are thousands of white jellyfish. A recent storm seems to have blown them into the area.  (Kind of a blurry shot… sorry!)

They have been spotted as far as 7 miles inland! Today they are almost a carpet. Up ahead on the beach is a long-forgotten derelict of a boat. And then, some activity on the beach, with heavy-equipment and a truck. Probably Refuge personnel doing some work. Off to my left, out a few miles, one of the many oil or natural gas rigs, sitting steadily in the shallow water.

Soon we come across two boats, doing some kind of shallow water work, but we could not figure out what they were up to. Being much busier than I thought we would be, we find yet another derelict on the beach. It’s a sad sight.

Our destination is approaching… I’ve fallen a bit behind — taking pictures, of course! — and I get a bonus… this shot of the three ultralight flyers: Jim, John and Rick in the air in front of me!

To the right, ahead, is the wildlife refuge airport; but it, too, is out of bounds for us. It has a very nice runway.

Another mile or two and Matagorda Island has given way to St. Joseph Island. In the distance I see the Aransas Pass Light Station.

Click here for an external link to a web page about the lighthouse.

Seeing the lighthouse meant we were approaching Aransas Pass, and right on the other side is Mustang Island and the town of Port Aransas.

The channel that goes out to the west is Corpus Christi channel.

As I pass over the North Jetty, I start to wonder where the airport is.

On the radio I hear my flying buddies start to announce their approach, and as I watch them my eye is led to the airport. Soon enough I find myself lining up for approach. If you look closely, you’ll see that Jim, John and Rick are already on the runway, or taxiing.

On my approach, I take a quick shot to my right, looking back the way we came, over the town of Port Aransas.

A breezy touchdown and soon enough I’m parking next to Rick’s Buccaneer, John’s RANS S-12XL, and Jim’s Challenger.

We had been told that the FBO building would have information on how to get a trolley into town, so we could have some lunch. But based on the times posted, we had just missed the trolley and would have to wait another 30-45 minutes. So, casting an eye around we spotted a nearby eatery… so we trotted across the sandy and cactus strewn landscape for lunch.

With our bellies full, it was time to feed our flying beasts, but the fuel pump at Mustang Beach Airport would not cooperate. We consulted our map and saw that McCampbell Airport had fuel… just a short hop across Redfish Bay. As I cross over Corpus Christi Channel I take this shot to show that the water in Texas can be beautiful!  (This is one of my all-time favorite shots.)

Ingleside is below me and to my right are two Navy ships being worked on.

At the top of that photo, partially obscured by my sponson, is the Aransas Pass airport. Two miles north of Ingleside, just outside the congested area is McCampbell Airport. It’s big, and has such a big taxiway that it looks like two parallel runways. The runway is almost a mile long, so we land near the center to avoid a lengthy taxi time.

We refuel … cross the broad expanse of Redfish Bay, and now we’re headed back, following the same route as before.

The beach is now on our left. Jim flies low to inspect one of the derelict boats. And, again, we see the boat and platform, doing something unknown.

The Matagorda Lighthouse appears as a lonely sentinel among the grassy dunes…

One last look through my telephoto lens and I can just pick out –on the right — the cemetery where many of the former lighthouse keepers are laid to rest.

Soon we see Pierce Field again — I catch Jim flying over it — easy to pick out among the green grass surrounding it.

A bit further down the beach, John decides to break off and fly to Bay City to refuel. Jim decides to follow him but, before he does, he takes this shot of me flying over a boat just off the beach.

Rick and I had a lot further to go than Jim or John, so we flew along the beach a little further then headed north toward IWS.

About 45 minutes later, as I flew past Sugarland Airport, I grabbed this shot of downtown Houston, showing the Galleria area on the left, and the Greenway Plaza area just below downtown.

As a bonus, I got lucky enough to spot my house during my approach to West Houston. It’s pretty hard to pick it out so I was happy I got this opportunity.

Total distance: 454 miles, and over 7 hours in the air. Whew! What a great trip!

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

January 19, 2003

Sunday morning, Jim, Gabe and I decided to make a quick flight down toward San Luis Pass… one of our favorite short flights.

There was a pallor over the area as we flew southeast towards the pass.

Jim was off my left wing; Gabe was somewhere behind him. About halfway there, I took a short detour to get a photo of DemiJohn Island.

Back on track, I look way off to the east, past Chocolate Bay, and see the buildings in downtown Galveston shining in the distance.

I also notice that the tide was very, very low… I couldn’t remember ever seeing it this low before.

We’re now within 2 miles of the pass, and I see, out in the water, just this side of the pass, three large sandbars that have appeared due to the low tide.

They sit between Bird Island, which is always above water (if just barely), and Galveston Island. The appearance of these sandbars is definitely an unusual occurrence, but not unheard of.

A friend of mine who fishes this area frequently has told me about the occasional appearance of these sandbars. I asked him if they were soggy and soft and he said, no, they were hard as concrete! He would sometimes walk across them and said they were so hard, his legs would ache by the time he reached the other side.

Based on this information, I decided that it might be possible to land on them. So I went down for a look. First, I flew over the sandbar at about 50 feet to make sure it looked smooth and consistent. It did. So I circled back around. I radioed Jim and Gabe and told them I was going to do a touch-n-go on the sandbar, and to stand-by.

As I made my approach I started to realize that the sandbar was very, very large and that I would not have to worry about having enough room. That was one less thing to be concerned about and could concentrate on the stability of the temporary island.

I flew just inches above the sand, just above stall speed, and rocked the wings to the left to make the left wheel touch the sand. It made a slight impression, but even less than the impression I make when I land on the beach. That was good news! I tried the other wheel, and it, too, looked solid. So, I decided to put both wheels down, but keep the front wheel up in the air.

I rode along the sandbar this way for a few seconds, and intentionally wagged the plane back and forth with the rudder pedals to see what would happen. Again, everything looked fine, so I went ahead and lowered the front wheels and slowed down.

The sandbar was just as my friend had described: hard as concrete!

I radioed back to Jim and Gabe, telling them to “come on down!” Jim responded in the affirmative, but Gabe held back a bit and decided to watch Jim land.

Before Jim landed, he took this photo of me on the sandbar. Spectacular!

Shortly after Jim lands, I take this picture of him.

Gabe then gets up the gumption to land, and I shoot this just as his wheels touch… good landing!

Look close and you can see the track in the sand…

…you can easily see that the weight of the plane barely made an impression on the hard sand. Pretty impressive considering this is normally under 1-2 feet of water!

If you take another look at the map, but this time zoomed in…

…you’ll see the oval path I took during the first fly-by, and then a landing. I then took off and flew over the other two sandbars. They were smaller, so I only did a very brief touch-n-go on them, then headed over to the Pass.

We spotted a couple of powered parachutes in the air.

By the time I got near them, only one was still up…

…the others were on the beach.

The remainder of the flight was pretty standard, paralleling the beach most of the way down toward Freeport, then a quick touch-n-go on a deserted road before we headed back to Bailes.

On the way back, I again flew close by DemiJohn Island — where I got this photo — and noticed the low water level was revealing some sandbars there, too, which I hadn’t seen before.

It was really nice that such a short trip could result in such high adventure!

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

January 19, 2003

Sunday morning, Jim, Gabe and I decided to make a quick flight down toward San Luis Pass… one of our favorite short flights.

There was a pallor over the area as we flew southeast towards the pass.

Jim was off my left wing; Gabe was somewhere behind him. About halfway there, I took a short detour to get a photo of DemiJohn Island.

Back on track, I look way off to the east, past Chocolate Bay, and see the buildings in downtown Galveston shining in the distance.

I also notice that the tide was very, very low… I couldn’t remember ever seeing it this low before.

We’re now within 2 miles of the pass, and I see, out in the water, just this side of the pass, three large sandbars that have appeared due to the low tide.

They sit between Bird Island, which is always above water (if just barely), and Galveston Island. The appearance of these sandbars is definitely an unusual occurrence, but not unheard of.

A friend of mine who fishes this area frequently has told me about the occasional appearance of these sandbars. I asked him if they were soggy and soft and he said, no, they were hard as concrete! He would sometimes walk across them and said they were so hard, his legs would ache by the time he reached the other side.

Based on this information, I decided that it might be possible to land on them. So I went down for a look. First, I flew over the sandbar at about 50 feet to make sure it looked smooth and consistent. It did. So I circled back around. I radioed Jim and Gabe and told them I was going to do a touch-n-go on the sandbar, and to stand-by.

As I made my approach I started to realize that the sandbar was very, very large and that I would not have to worry about having enough room. That was one less thing to be concerned about and could concentrate on the stability of the temporary island.

I flew just inches above the sand, just above stall speed, and rocked the wings to the left to make the left wheel touch the sand. It made a slight impression, but even less than the impression I make when I land on the beach. That was good news! I tried the other wheel, and it, too, looked solid. So, I decided to put both wheels down, but keep the front wheel up in the air.

I rode along the sandbar this way for a few seconds, and intentionally wagged the plane back and forth with the rudder pedals to see what would happen. Again, everything looked fine, so I went ahead and lowered the front wheels and slowed down.

The sandbar was just as my friend had described: hard as concrete!

I radioed back to Jim and Gabe, telling them to “come on down!” Jim responded in the affirmative, but Gabe held back a bit and decided to watch Jim land.

Before Jim landed, he took this photo of me on the sandbar. Spectacular!

Shortly after Jim lands, I take this picture of him.

Gabe then gets up the gumption to land, and I shoot this just as his wheels touch… good landing!

Look close and you can see the track in the sand…

…you can easily see that the weight of the plane barely made an impression on the hard sand. Pretty impressive considering this is normally under 1-2 feet of water!

If you take another look at the map, but this time zoomed in…

…you’ll see the oval path I took during the first fly-by, and then a landing. I then took off and flew over the other two sandbars. They were smaller, so I only did a very brief touch-n-go on them, then headed over to the Pass.

We spotted a couple of powered parachutes in the air.

By the time I got near them, only one was still up…

…the others were on the beach.

The remainder of the flight was pretty standard, paralleling the beach most of the way down toward Freeport, then a quick touch-n-go on a deserted road before we headed back to Bailes.

On the way back, I again flew close by DemiJohn Island — where I got this photo — and noticed the low water level was revealing some sandbars there, too, which I hadn’t seen before.

It was really nice that such a short trip could result in such high adventure!

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

November 23, 2002

It was a sparkling Saturday morning, cool but not too cold, and a good number of the Bailes crew were at the hangar. Gabe, a fairly new ultralight pilot who flies a red Hawk, asked to tag along with Jim and me, and John Riley even volunteered to fly in the same airspace! So, four of us ventured out on a trip to Wharton Municipal Airport.

Neither Gabe nor John likes to fly too far afield, but they seemed up to a bit of a cross-country and, after all, the weather was beautiful!

The general plan was to fly past the Mystery Airport, do a touch-n-go at Lackey, then fly into Wharton and check out the pilots lounge. And, that is pretty much what we did!

Shortly after take-off from Bailes, I spot a field with interesting designs.

After a few minutes, we all managed to gather up together and I radio to Gabe to get closer for a few pictures. Unfortunately, the sun is behind him so the part of his plane that I was shooting was in shadow. Plus, being a fairly new pilot, he was reluctant to get very close — I don’t blame him! — so these are the best I could manage under the circumstances.  As you may have noticed, he slipped by me as we were flying along… that’s something I’ve always noticed about those Hawks: they are fast little airplanes!

Shortly, we are passing by the prison farm, with freshly plowed fields.

Off to the north is Smithers Lake with the coal power plant and its ever-present cloud of steam. You can easily see it was a beautiful day!

As we pass by the San Bernard River, I take this shot of John Riley in his RANS S12-XL.

And here’s Jim as he passes near some ponds.

Before long we’re passing close to the Mystery Airport at Newgulf… I’m pretty high so I get a good look at it coming, and going. The local scuttlebutt says that it’s going to re-open soon, and will no longer be a mystery!

By this time, I’m up at about 2000 feet, but John Riley stays low, passing close by some power lines.

The Mystery Airport is easy to spot because it’s right by these old smokestacks.

Before long, we dip to the southeast a bit and nearly miss Lackey Airport. Its runway is so narrow, you really have to know what you’re looking for. One by one, we call out our pattern and each do a touch-n-go down the narrow strip.

We’re now only a few miles from Wharton, and I spot a couple of tractors in a field — big suprise, eh? But this image is pretty dramatic.

As I pass them, I can’t stop myself from another shot.

From an ultralighter’s perspective, Wharton has a huge runway, about 5000 feet long, and almost wide enough to land on it sideways!

Again, we followed the proper protocol, called the pattern and we each did our landings. I had been coming in last, to take pictures, but Gabe got behind me. So, when I finally stopped, I was able to hop out real quick and get this shot of him greasing the landing at Wharton.

Gabe taxis in and shuts down…

…and all four of our planes are lined up nice and neat in front of the office. The airport manager takes a look and says, “Hey, are we havin’ a fly-in and nobody told me?” We had a good laugh over that, and he said he was happy to see us. Very friendly folks.

We stretched our legs, drank a little coffee, checked out the pilots lounge, then gathered for a little group photo.

Then I couldn’t resist taking yet another photo of my lovely little RANS.

We decided not to go straight back but to head for Bay City Airport. John Riley took off way ahead of everyone else, but soon enough we were all in the air. We followed the Colorado River part of the way there. I spotted a canal that is fed from the river, by way of a set of pumps.

Obviously the river is low and the canal looked mostly empty. Only a few hundred yards downstream was this small dam, probably there to keep the pipes in the water when the pumps are running.

Farmers fields flanked us on both sides where I got a look at this massive display of hay.

Sometimes it just seems like they go to a lot of effort to make their fields very attractive, just for me! 😉

And I surely appreciate it! I waved as I passed this farmer, floating on a sea of black soil.

I landed 4th at Bay City… John Riley was already ready to leave, so I simply turned around and took off again. As I was in my takeoff ascent, I managed to snap pictures of Gabe and Jim taxiing, and John was still parked next to a GA plane. It was kind of like computer lingo: I was LIFO (last in, first out) and John was FILO (first in, last out).

Gabe quickly caught up and I got this nice silhouette — yes, that’s the Gulf of Mexico in the distance behind him — and another as he, again, pulled away from my slower S12-XL. He’s going to have to find that airbrake if he wants to fly with us!

We pass the San Bernard River again…

…looking much larger than on our northerly pass, and I make the bold decision to fly over Brazoria County Airport. Usually, we give it a wide berth, but I knew I would be fine as long as I stayed high enough and announced my intentions. I was so intent on looking around, I forgot to get a photo!

Soon enough, we see Bailes, but at a different angle than we’re used to.

I land first, but stay down at the far end while Jim lands behind me, something I jokingly call LAHL, Land And Hold Long.

What a pleasant trip that was! 2:04 in the air, 130 miles covered.

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

November 23, 2002

It was a sparkling Saturday morning, cool but not too cold, and a good number of the Bailes crew were at the hangar. Gabe, a fairly new ultralight pilot who flies a red Hawk, asked to tag along with Jim and me, and John Riley even volunteered to fly in the same airspace! So, four of us ventured out on a trip to Wharton Municipal Airport.

Neither Gabe nor John likes to fly too far afield, but they seemed up to a bit of a cross-country and, after all, the weather was beautiful!

The general plan was to fly past the Mystery Airport, do a touch-n-go at Lackey, then fly into Wharton and check out the pilots lounge. And, that is pretty much what we did!

Shortly after take-off from Bailes, I spot a field with interesting designs.

After a few minutes, we all managed to gather up together and I radio to Gabe to get closer for a few pictures. Unfortunately, the sun is behind him so the part of his plane that I was shooting was in shadow. Plus, being a fairly new pilot, he was reluctant to get very close — I don’t blame him! — so these are the best I could manage under the circumstances.  As you may have noticed, he slipped by me as we were flying along… that’s something I’ve always noticed about those Hawks: they are fast little airplanes!

Shortly, we are passing by the prison farm, with freshly plowed fields.

Off to the north is Smithers Lake with the coal power plant and its ever-present cloud of steam. You can easily see it was a beautiful day!

As we pass by the San Bernard River, I take this shot of John Riley in his RANS S12-XL.

And here’s Jim as he passes near some ponds.

Before long we’re passing close to the Mystery Airport at Newgulf… I’m pretty high so I get a good look at it coming, and going. The local scuttlebutt says that it’s going to re-open soon, and will no longer be a mystery!

By this time, I’m up at about 2000 feet, but John Riley stays low, passing close by some power lines.

The Mystery Airport is easy to spot because it’s right by these old smokestacks.

Before long, we dip to the southeast a bit and nearly miss Lackey Airport. Its runway is so narrow, you really have to know what you’re looking for. One by one, we call out our pattern and each do a touch-n-go down the narrow strip.

We’re now only a few miles from Wharton, and I spot a couple of tractors in a field — big suprise, eh? But this image is pretty dramatic.

As I pass them, I can’t stop myself from another shot.

From an ultralighter’s perspective, Wharton has a huge runway, about 5000 feet long, and almost wide enough to land on it sideways!

Again, we followed the proper protocol, called the pattern and we each did our landings. I had been coming in last, to take pictures, but Gabe got behind me. So, when I finally stopped, I was able to hop out real quick and get this shot of him greasing the landing at Wharton.

Gabe taxis in and shuts down…

…and all four of our planes are lined up nice and neat in front of the office. The airport manager takes a look and says, “Hey, are we havin’ a fly-in and nobody told me?” We had a good laugh over that, and he said he was happy to see us. Very friendly folks.

We stretched our legs, drank a little coffee, checked out the pilots lounge, then gathered for a little group photo.

Then I couldn’t resist taking yet another photo of my lovely little RANS.

We decided not to go straight back but to head for Bay City Airport. John Riley took off way ahead of everyone else, but soon enough we were all in the air. We followed the Colorado River part of the way there. I spotted a canal that is fed from the river, by way of a set of pumps.

Obviously the river is low and the canal looked mostly empty. Only a few hundred yards downstream was this small dam, probably there to keep the pipes in the water when the pumps are running.

Farmers fields flanked us on both sides where I got a look at this massive display of hay.

Sometimes it just seems like they go to a lot of effort to make their fields very attractive, just for me! 😉

And I surely appreciate it! I waved as I passed this farmer, floating on a sea of black soil.

I landed 4th at Bay City… John Riley was already ready to leave, so I simply turned around and took off again. As I was in my takeoff ascent, I managed to snap pictures of Gabe and Jim taxiing, and John was still parked next to a GA plane. It was kind of like computer lingo: I was LIFO (last in, first out) and John was FILO (first in, last out).

Gabe quickly caught up and I got this nice silhouette — yes, that’s the Gulf of Mexico in the distance behind him — and another as he, again, pulled away from my slower S12-XL. He’s going to have to find that airbrake if he wants to fly with us!

We pass the San Bernard River again…

…looking much larger than on our northerly pass, and I make the bold decision to fly over Brazoria County Airport. Usually, we give it a wide berth, but I knew I would be fine as long as I stayed high enough and announced my intentions. I was so intent on looking around, I forgot to get a photo!

Soon enough, we see Bailes, but at a different angle than we’re used to.

I land first, but stay down at the far end while Jim lands behind me, something I jokingly call LAHL, Land And Hold Long.

What a pleasant trip that was! 2:04 in the air, 130 miles covered.

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

October 5, 2002

Brother Jim was finally getting into the spirit of ‘Texas-Flyer’ and suggested we circumnavigate Houston. Hmmm, now why didn’t I think of that? 😉

I left it to him to plan, as I was busy being a “Cheerleader Parent” (my oldest son is a cheerleader…

…for Stratford H.S.) on the night prior to the trip. We knew it would be best to make an early start, so we agreed to meet at the hangar at about 7 a.m.

But, as things usually go, it was a foggy morning and we should have slept in a bit later. When I arrived at Bailes, I couldn’t help but spot this beautiful spider web on the fence.

Jim arrived in short order and we prepared our planes… then waited. The fog seemed pretty thick, and we didn’t really want a repeat of our Matagorda trip, so we waited about an hour or so before attempting it.

Recently, my video camera had been stolen so I had replaced it with another one, which I decided to take along on this trip. Unfortunately, I only had about 27 minutes of tape left on it (again, the cheerleaders took up the rest!). But it was a pretty cool 27 minutes!

As we taxied, the fog was patchy, with an occasional blue spot showing up. Jim took off first, and I watched him slowly dissolve into the mist. I waited to make sure he was clear, then powered on down the runway. I was just above the telephone poles when it became obvious that the blue spot I saw had been replaced with a solid cloud of fog. I nosed the plane over to stop me from ascending into a grey world of zero visibility, then banked hard to the right to give myself plenty of space away from the power lines.

I was very familiar with the field in front of me, so I arc’d around it and came around beside the baseball fields that were on the southern end of the airport. Keeping the baseball fields in sight, and making sure I had enough altitude to avoid any of the telephone poles, and keeping well clear of the power lines (which I couldn’t see, but knew they were there), I made a full 180-degree turn back toward the field.

I radio’d Jim and asked him where he was — better to be safe, than sorry! He was where I figured he was, about a half-mile away, paralleling the field, heading north. I was now heading north, too, but I was directly over the field. There was a lot of space between him and me, so I wasn’t worried. And I knew no one else was crazy enough to be up in this soup, so I figured I was okay.

Just as I flew over the hangar, that blue spot showed up again, and up I went. A few moments later, I was clear of the fog and saw Jim off to the east…

…just where he said he was. From the air, the little clouds of fog looked well separated from each other, but my experience in the previous 60 seconds taught me otherwise.

By the way, this type of flying — just under the fog layer — is sometimes called “scud running” by pilots.

Just for the record, I would NEVER attempt such a crazy maneuver like that at any other field on the planet. But I’ve made hundreds of takeoffs and landing at Bailes and knew exactly where everything was. Ok, ok, so that sounds like just so much denial. Frankly, everything in flying is a risk, but experience and training and a heads-up attitude all help mitigate those risks. If I thought I would lose visual reference to the ground, I would never have taken off. But my previous experiences taught me that I would be able to see the ground with that kind of patchy fog… and I was correct.

My scud running was simply a judgement call, something to make SURE I didn’t lose that visual reference. I did it that way because I felt there was a chance of losing that reference if I had continued going into that fog cloud.

Anyway, if you want to see that 3 minutes of fun then click below. (At the very end of the sequence, you’ll see the hangar just below and to the right, then blue sky open up in front as I ascend.)

Ok… we’re above the fog, now, and the air is cool and calm… very pleasant. I look down at the clouds and see my shadow, and one of those interesting full-circle rainbows around my shadow.

I’ve seen something similar in a jet airliner, but this was a first for me in my own airplane. Cool!

As we fly along, the fog (which looks like clouds-near-the-ground to us) start to grow and ascend.

The clouds are broken, though, so we never lose visual reference to the ground.

This shot of Jim almost makes it look like we’re thousands of feet in the air..

We started off at 700 feet, above the clouds, but it didn’t take long for them to start climbing. Less than 30 minutes later, trying to stay above the clouds, we’re at 3,000 feet and still climbing.

Jim radio’s me and tells me to look down… I do, and there’s the George Observatory, peeking through the clouds!

Off in the distance is Smithers Lake and the power plant, and it’s obvious from the large vertical cloud above it that the heat from the power plant is making the cloud grow!

(You can see from this picture that I took it through my windshield. I did that a lot on this trip. We had a long way to go, and I decided expediency was the better part of valor, or something like that, so my apologies ahead of time for less than picture-perfect, er, pictures.)

We’re still trying to keep above the clouds where it’s nice and smooth, but finally it’s just too hard to do. I take one last shot of Jim, then radio him and say we need to go ahead and drop below the clouds.

He agrees, and right in front of us is a convenient “canyon” of clouds that we easily slip between.

At the “bottom” of the canyon, we find ourselves in familiar territory, both in terms of terrain as well as the increased turbulence in the air.

Before long, we’re below the clouds completely, and approach Interstate-10 while nearing our first waypoint, Sport Flyer airfield.

My video tape has run out long before this point and I knew I wouldn’t get to view it until the long trip is over. To make it a bit more interesting, I’ve sped up the 28 minutes of video so that you can view it in exactly 2 minutes, 48 seconds. That’s about a 10 times increase in speed… so, instead of my 65mph speed, it will look like I was doing 650 mph! It’s definitely fun to watch.  About 2/3rds of the way through the video you’ll see Jim in his Challenger, swinging left and right across my view.

I look off to the northwest and see a cloud bank hugging the ground…

…and was glad we weren’t heading in that direction! I radio Jim and suggest we cut the corner — i.e., not go directly to the Sport Flyer waypoint, but start making the turn to our next waypoint — and he agrees. We have just crossed I-10 and are now heading northeast (see map) toward Dry Creek.

Dry Creek was a waypoint because there is an ultralight pilot, Gary Haley, who lives there whom I have exchanged some emails with over the Internet. He had invited me to drop in, so I decided to do just that.

On the way there, I get my first tractor shot of the trip…

…and I see a quadrant of baseball fields being constructed.

Our first problem happens, though, when Jim says “2 miles to Dry Creek” and my GPS says 8 miles. I wondered why he was slowly turning to the east, while my track was decidedly northeast. As it turns out, I simply forgot to put Dry Creek in my GPS route for the trip! So I was headed for the waypoint after Dry Creek, Fields Field.

I make it to Fields, and Jim heads my way so we can stay together. He tells me I missed Dry Creek and does a really good job of not calling me a dunderhead, but I probably deserve it… I felt like a dunderhead! Should we go on, or go back, he asks? He’s being really considerate since he knows I was looking forward to meeting Gary. I ask him how far… 8 miles… so, sure, that’s not far, so we head southeast.

Dry Creek turns out to be a nice, neat little aviation community with a grass strip. Gary’s house and hangar are on the bottom left corner of the photo.

We land on their extremely well-kept runway, and taxi down to his house. His Kolb Mark III is sitting out and looking pretty.

Gary is there to greet us and he’s as friendly as they come. Even his wife comes out to say hello (the wives usually beat a path away from us). We’re given the tour of his hangar where he keeps his Cessna as well as the parts of the RV-7 he’s building. Very cool… I was green with envy!

Here is a stitched-together image of our planes sitting out in front of Garys house and hangar.

After a bit of socializing, we decide to get back to the task at hand. But my plane had other ideas, and wouldn’t start. I had new spark plugs with me, so I swapped out the one I figured was the culprit, and, sure enough, it starts right up! We’re off!

We stick to the plan, and head again toward Fields Field. Not far north of Dry Creek is May Field.

We pass by Fields Field again…

…and keep heading north since we need to avoid the Class D airspace around Hooks Airport. The nature of the terrain changes quickly here and we find ourselves above thick piney forest. This, I think, is Lake Woodlands.

Spotting landmarks among the forest is trickier than in the open fields I’m used to.

Before long, we see The Woodlands in the distance and we cross I-45.

Our next waypoint will also be a refueling stop, Williams Airport. All I can say is, thank goodness for GPS! All we can see is forest, forest and more forest, until we are practically on top of the airport.

I enter the pattern, announce my intentions, and land to the north. It’s a hard-surfaced runway, but it seems very old.

We taxi over to the large gasoline tank, and refuel.

Everything about the place makes it feel very old.

The attendant is a quiet old man who doesn’t say much… quite the opposite of most airport types… but he’s very nice and gets us on our way quickly.

We’re pretty excited since this is about the halfway point. We’ve never flown around this part of Houston before, so everything is new.

A few minutes later, we’re crossing US Highway 59… the forest is still thick. We fret over the scarcity of emergency landing spots. In this picture, you can see mostly forest, but possibly a place in the background that we could have used if we had had an engine-out.

Off in the distance, we now see Lake Houston.

To my left is what appears to be a sand-mining operation.

East Texas soil is very sandy… that sand you put in your child’s sandbox has to come from somewhere! This might be the place!

I look down at a fairly dilapidated house and barn, but see the Texas spirit is alive and well.

And here is an interesting shot of the shadow of my brothers plane, among a field of cotton.

Cotton? Oh! The trees are thinning out and the fields are returning! Thank goodness! Off to my right is… what? It looks like a runway, and a big hangar, but what are all those cars doing? I never do figure it out. But the picture shows how the fields are starting to return.

Then I fly by what is absolutely a private airstrip… there are, after all, two windsocks! Very nice set-up… very nice!

Right about this time I notice that I can no longer transmit on my radio! It seems the power is going out. No problem, I think, since I grabbed the 12-volt adapter before we left. I reach into my bag and… nope, I grabbed the adapter for the intercom, not for the radio. Oh great. I can hear Jim when he transmits, but when I try to reply, the radio dies. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out I’ve got a radio problem.

I want to land at the next waypoint to fill him in on the problem, but he says “If you can hear me, turn 45-degrees to the right and head for Baytown.” Well, I immediately turn, which tells him I can still hear him. Baytown is a little further beyond the next waypoint, but he at least knows my predicament.

We approach Baytown… I changed the channel on the radio to listen for any traffic at Baytown, but there is none. I make a quick pattern then land. I turned on to the taxiway then pull off into the grass. I never really even thought I’d turn off my engine… I just wanted to signal that my radio was dead, and take another look in my gear bag.

After a thorough look, I decide that I really don’t have it and figured we’d better stop and chat a bit about our plans. I stop my engine and Jim stops his. He jumps out and starts looking in the grass around his plane. I walk over and ask what’s up… he’s lost his voice recorder. After a brief search, it shows up inside his plane, under his seat.

We then discuss the lack of radio communication, and we plan our route back to Bailes. Since this part of Houston was known to us, the route back was the same we had used before, so no problems there. He decided he would follow me in case I had to do an emergency landing. Everything agreed, we jumped back into our planes and fired up the engines. Well, I tried to, anyway.

It wouldn’t catch, no matter what I did. So, I hauled out all my other spare spark plugs and replaced them all. By the time I did that, I had tried to start it so many times, the battery had run down. We tried to hand-prop it — which usually works — but had no luck with it. I finally ran through all the processes I had been taught about an engine that wouldn’t start, but nothing seemed to help.

I realized I would never get it started by hand-propping it, so Jim and I walked the plane down the remainder of the taxiway to an area where we had seen some people hanging around. I popped my head into a hangar and asked for a jump. A few minutes later, I had the plane hooked up to a car battery, and I turned the key. On the 2nd attempt, it started right up! Relief!

I profusely thanked the gentleman, waited for him to clear out of the way and taxied back to the runway, and off we went. That took over an hour of hard, hot work. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to be back in the air!

We circled around Baytown, and kept the Baytown Bridge to our right.

The Houston Ship Channel was as active as always, and the container ship off-loading site was a full as ever. Off in the distance to the north was the San Jacinto Monument, something I never tire of seeing.

As I cross the northern part of Galveston Bay  I see a muddy track in the water. A large sailboat, probably from the Houston Yacht Club, plies the Bay, and then I see a lot of little sailboats enjoying the nice day, too. As I pass near Clear Lake, I can see there’s lot of boat traffic today.

One of the usual waypoints in this part of town is the old Houston Gulf Aiport. It’s being torn down, and the runways are “X’d”, meaning, “no landing!” I think it’s being converted to yet another subdivision.

We’re making a bee-line for Bailes, if for no other reason than it’s been a long flight. But there is always a tractor picture, or two, to take!

We fly by Ray’s private airstrip… we usually stop and chat, but we’re tired!

But, suddenly, we have an even better reason… in the far distance, a thundercloud with rain seems to be sitting over our airport.

I start to slow down thinking we can fly around a bit and wait for it to pass. But as I get closer, I realize it has not yet reached the airport, so I pour on the gas, and make a quick landing. Jim is immediately behind me and, after he lands, we both taxi quickly to the hangar. Less than a minute after we get the planes in the hangar, the skies open up. The rain is so loud on the hangar roof, you can hardly hear each other talk.

That was a close one!

We left at about 9am, and arrived back at our hangar at about 3:30pm… but our time in the air was 3 hours 28 minutes, and we covered 225 miles. That gave us an average of 64.9 mph… not a bad cruise speed considering the turbulence we had to fly through.

 

Note:  If you enjoyed this or any of my other blog entries, I suggest you subscribe to this blog so that you are automatically notified when I make a new entry.  Go to the top of this page, and look along the left side for the subscription field.

October 5, 2002

Brother Jim was finally getting into the spirit of ‘Texas-Flyer’ and suggested we circumnavigate Houston. Hmmm, now why didn’t I think of that? 😉

I left it to him to plan, as I was busy being a “Cheerleader Parent” (my oldest son is a cheerleader…

…for Stratford H.S.) on the night prior to the trip. We knew it would be best to make an early start, so we agreed to meet at the hangar at about 7 a.m.

But, as things usually go, it was a foggy morning and we should have slept in a bit later. When I arrived at Bailes, I couldn’t help but spot this beautiful spider web on the fence.

Jim arrived in short order and we prepared our planes… then waited. The fog seemed pretty thick, and we didn’t really want a repeat of our Matagorda trip, so we waited about an hour or so before attempting it.

Recently, my video camera had been stolen so I had replaced it with another one, which I decided to take along on this trip. Unfortunately, I only had about 27 minutes of tape left on it (again, the cheerleaders took up the rest!). But it was a pretty cool 27 minutes!

As we taxied, the fog was patchy, with an occasional blue spot showing up. Jim took off first, and I watched him slowly dissolve into the mist. I waited to make sure he was clear, then powered on down the runway. I was just above the telephone poles when it became obvious that the blue spot I saw had been replaced with a solid cloud of fog. I nosed the plane over to stop me from ascending into a grey world of zero visibility, then banked hard to the right to give myself plenty of space away from the power lines.

I was very familiar with the field in front of me, so I arc’d around it and came around beside the baseball fields that were on the southern end of the airport. Keeping the baseball fields in sight, and making sure I had enough altitude to avoid any of the telephone poles, and keeping well clear of the power lines (which I couldn’t see, but knew they were there), I made a full 180-degree turn back toward the field.

I radio’d Jim and asked him where he was — better to be safe, than sorry! He was where I figured he was, about a half-mile away, paralleling the field, heading north. I was now heading north, too, but I was directly over the field. There was a lot of space between him and me, so I wasn’t worried. And I knew no one else was crazy enough to be up in this soup, so I figured I was okay.

Just as I flew over the hangar, that blue spot showed up again, and up I went. A few moments later, I was clear of the fog and saw Jim off to the east…

…just where he said he was. From the air, the little clouds of fog looked well separated from each other, but my experience in the previous 60 seconds taught me otherwise.

By the way, this type of flying — just under the fog layer — is sometimes called “scud running” by pilots.

Just for the record, I would NEVER attempt such a crazy maneuver like that at any other field on the planet. But I’ve made hundreds of takeoffs and landing at Bailes and knew exactly where everything was. Ok, ok, so that sounds like just so much denial. Frankly, everything in flying is a risk, but experience and training and a heads-up attitude all help mitigate those risks. If I thought I would lose visual reference to the ground, I would never have taken off. But my previous experiences taught me that I would be able to see the ground with that kind of patchy fog… and I was correct.

My scud running was simply a judgement call, something to make SURE I didn’t lose that visual reference. I did it that way because I felt there was a chance of losing that reference if I had continued going into that fog cloud.

Anyway, if you want to see that 3 minutes of fun then click below. (At the very end of the sequence, you’ll see the hangar just below and to the right, then blue sky open up in front as I ascend.)

Ok… we’re above the fog, now, and the air is cool and calm… very pleasant. I look down at the clouds and see my shadow, and one of those interesting full-circle rainbows around my shadow.

I’ve seen something similar in a jet airliner, but this was a first for me in my own airplane. Cool!

As we fly along, the fog (which looks like clouds-near-the-ground to us) start to grow and ascend.

The clouds are broken, though, so we never lose visual reference to the ground.

This shot of Jim almost makes it look like we’re thousands of feet in the air..

We started off at 700 feet, above the clouds, but it didn’t take long for them to start climbing. Less than 30 minutes later, trying to stay above the clouds, we’re at 3,000 feet and still climbing.

Jim radio’s me and tells me to look down… I do, and there’s the George Observatory, peeking through the clouds!

Off in the distance is Smithers Lake and the power plant, and it’s obvious from the large vertical cloud above it that the heat from the power plant is making the cloud grow!

(You can see from this picture that I took it through my windshield. I did that a lot on this trip. We had a long way to go, and I decided expediency was the better part of valor, or something like that, so my apologies ahead of time for less than picture-perfect, er, pictures.)

We’re still trying to keep above the clouds where it’s nice and smooth, but finally it’s just too hard to do. I take one last shot of Jim, then radio him and say we need to go ahead and drop below the clouds.

He agrees, and right in front of us is a convenient “canyon” of clouds that we easily slip between.

At the “bottom” of the canyon, we find ourselves in familiar territory, both in terms of terrain as well as the increased turbulence in the air.

Before long, we’re below the clouds completely, and approach Interstate-10 while nearing our first waypoint, Sport Flyer airfield.

My video tape has run out long before this point and I knew I wouldn’t get to view it until the long trip is over. To make it a bit more interesting, I’ve sped up the 28 minutes of video so that you can view it in exactly 2 minutes, 48 seconds. That’s about a 10 times increase in speed… so, instead of my 65mph speed, it will look like I was doing 650 mph! It’s definitely fun to watch.  About 2/3rds of the way through the video you’ll see Jim in his Challenger, swinging left and right across my view.

I look off to the northwest and see a cloud bank hugging the ground…

…and was glad we weren’t heading in that direction! I radio Jim and suggest we cut the corner — i.e., not go directly to the Sport Flyer waypoint, but start making the turn to our next waypoint — and he agrees. We have just crossed I-10 and are now heading northeast (see map) toward Dry Creek.

Dry Creek was a waypoint because there is an ultralight pilot, Gary Haley, who lives there whom I have exchanged some emails with over the Internet. He had invited me to drop in, so I decided to do just that.

On the way there, I get my first tractor shot of the trip…

…and I see a quadrant of baseball fields being constructed.

Our first problem happens, though, when Jim says “2 miles to Dry Creek” and my GPS says 8 miles. I wondered why he was slowly turning to the east, while my track was decidedly northeast. As it turns out, I simply forgot to put Dry Creek in my GPS route for the trip! So I was headed for the waypoint after Dry Creek, Fields Field.

I make it to Fields, and Jim heads my way so we can stay together. He tells me I missed Dry Creek and does a really good job of not calling me a dunderhead, but I probably deserve it… I felt like a dunderhead! Should we go on, or go back, he asks? He’s being really considerate since he knows I was looking forward to meeting Gary. I ask him how far… 8 miles… so, sure, that’s not far, so we head southeast.

Dry Creek turns out to be a nice, neat little aviation community with a grass strip. Gary’s house and hangar are on the bottom left corner of the photo.

We land on their extremely well-kept runway, and taxi down to his house. His Kolb Mark III is sitting out and looking pretty.

Gary is there to greet us and he’s as friendly as they come. Even his wife comes out to say hello (the wives usually beat a path away from us). We’re given the tour of his hangar where he keeps his Cessna as well as the parts of the RV-7 he’s building. Very cool… I was green with envy!

Here is a stitched-together image of our planes sitting out in front of Garys house and hangar.

After a bit of socializing, we decide to get back to the task at hand. But my plane had other ideas, and wouldn’t start. I had new spark plugs with me, so I swapped out the one I figured was the culprit, and, sure enough, it starts right up! We’re off!

We stick to the plan, and head again toward Fields Field. Not far north of Dry Creek is May Field.

We pass by Fields Field again…

…and keep heading north since we need to avoid the Class D airspace around Hooks Airport. The nature of the terrain changes quickly here and we find ourselves above thick piney forest. This, I think, is Lake Woodlands.

Spotting landmarks among the forest is trickier than in the open fields I’m used to.

Before long, we see The Woodlands in the distance and we cross I-45.

Our next waypoint will also be a refueling stop, Williams Airport. All I can say is, thank goodness for GPS! All we can see is forest, forest and more forest, until we are practically on top of the airport.

I enter the pattern, announce my intentions, and land to the north. It’s a hard-surfaced runway, but it seems very old.

We taxi over to the large gasoline tank, and refuel.

Everything about the place makes it feel very old.

The attendant is a quiet old man who doesn’t say much… quite the opposite of most airport types… but he’s very nice and gets us on our way quickly.

We’re pretty excited since this is about the halfway point. We’ve never flown around this part of Houston before, so everything is new.

A few minutes later, we’re crossing US Highway 59… the forest is still thick. We fret over the scarcity of emergency landing spots. In this picture, you can see mostly forest, but possibly a place in the background that we could have used if we had had an engine-out.

Off in the distance, we now see Lake Houston.

To my left is what appears to be a sand-mining operation.

East Texas soil is very sandy… that sand you put in your child’s sandbox has to come from somewhere! This might be the place!

I look down at a fairly dilapidated house and barn, but see the Texas spirit is alive and well.

And here is an interesting shot of the shadow of my brothers plane, among a field of cotton.

Cotton? Oh! The trees are thinning out and the fields are returning! Thank goodness! Off to my right is… what? It looks like a runway, and a big hangar, but what are all those cars doing? I never do figure it out. But the picture shows how the fields are starting to return.

Then I fly by what is absolutely a private airstrip… there are, after all, two windsocks! Very nice set-up… very nice!

Right about this time I notice that I can no longer transmit on my radio! It seems the power is going out. No problem, I think, since I grabbed the 12-volt adapter before we left. I reach into my bag and… nope, I grabbed the adapter for the intercom, not for the radio. Oh great. I can hear Jim when he transmits, but when I try to reply, the radio dies. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out I’ve got a radio problem.

I want to land at the next waypoint to fill him in on the problem, but he says “If you can hear me, turn 45-degrees to the right and head for Baytown.” Well, I immediately turn, which tells him I can still hear him. Baytown is a little further beyond the next waypoint, but he at least knows my predicament.

We approach Baytown… I changed the channel on the radio to listen for any traffic at Baytown, but there is none. I make a quick pattern then land. I turned on to the taxiway then pull off into the grass. I never really even thought I’d turn off my engine… I just wanted to signal that my radio was dead, and take another look in my gear bag.

After a thorough look, I decide that I really don’t have it and figured we’d better stop and chat a bit about our plans. I stop my engine and Jim stops his. He jumps out and starts looking in the grass around his plane. I walk over and ask what’s up… he’s lost his voice recorder. After a brief search, it shows up inside his plane, under his seat.

We then discuss the lack of radio communication, and we plan our route back to Bailes. Since this part of Houston was known to us, the route back was the same we had used before, so no problems there. He decided he would follow me in case I had to do an emergency landing. Everything agreed, we jumped back into our planes and fired up the engines. Well, I tried to, anyway.

It wouldn’t catch, no matter what I did. So, I hauled out all my other spare spark plugs and replaced them all. By the time I did that, I had tried to start it so many times, the battery had run down. We tried to hand-prop it — which usually works — but had no luck with it. I finally ran through all the processes I had been taught about an engine that wouldn’t start, but nothing seemed to help.

I realized I would never get it started by hand-propping it, so Jim and I walked the plane down the remainder of the taxiway to an area where we had seen some people hanging around. I popped my head into a hangar and asked for a jump. A few minutes later, I had the plane hooked up to a car battery, and I turned the key. On the 2nd attempt, it started right up! Relief!

I profusely thanked the gentleman, waited for him to clear out of the way and taxied back to the runway, and off we went. That took over an hour of hard, hot work. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to be back in the air!

We circled around Baytown, and kept the Baytown Bridge to our right.

The Houston Ship Channel was as active as always, and the container ship off-loading site was a full as ever. Off in the distance to the north was the San Jacinto Monument, something I never tire of seeing.

As I cross the northern part of Galveston Bay  I see a muddy track in the water. A large sailboat, probably from the Houston Yacht Club, plies the Bay, and then I see a lot of little sailboats enjoying the nice day, too. As I pass near Clear Lake, I can see there’s lot of boat traffic today.

One of the usual waypoints in this part of town is the old Houston Gulf Aiport. It’s being torn down, and the runways are “X’d”, meaning, “no landing!” I think it’s being converted to yet another subdivision.

We’re making a bee-line for Bailes, if for no other reason than it’s been a long flight. But there is always a tractor picture, or two, to take!

We fly by Ray’s private airstrip… we usually stop and chat, but we’re tired!

But, suddenly, we have an even better reason… in the far distance, a thundercloud with rain seems to be sitting over our airport.

I start to slow down thinking we can fly around a bit and wait for it to pass. But as I get closer, I realize it has not yet reached the airport, so I pour on the gas, and make a quick landing. Jim is immediately behind me and, after he lands, we both taxi quickly to the hangar. Less than a minute after we get the planes in the hangar, the skies open up. The rain is so loud on the hangar roof, you can hardly hear each other talk.

That was a close one!

We left at about 9am, and arrived back at our hangar at about 3:30pm… but our time in the air was 3 hours 28 minutes, and we covered 225 miles. That gave us an average of 64.9 mph… not a bad cruise speed considering the turbulence we had to fly through.

 

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July 5, 2002

Like most Americans, I had the day off for 4th-of-July, of course, but also had the next day off, July 5th. My brothers plane was still sitting forlornly in the hangar, with no wings, and no engine.

(You can read the story about his engine-out and subsequent crash, here.) So, I decided to do a little trip by myself again. Unlike almost all my past trips, this was not planned to the nth detail.

As I drove down toward Angleton, I thought about flying west, to see if I could spot any evidence of the huge floods that had stricken central Texas over the past week. But later as I prepared my plane, I thought about an engine-out over flooded land, and decided against it. Instead my eyes turned east, toward Bolivar Peninsula.

I had made it to the Bolivar lighthouse, but had turned back toward home at that point. Today, I decided, I would continue on and see what the rest of the Peninsula looked like.

As before, I decided to cross Galveston Bay at the Texas City Dike. Today, though, I wanted to be a bit higher… say, 1500 feet. This would not only be safer in the case of an engine-out, but I’d avoid the helicopter traffic I had seen before.

Just before the dike, I looked off to my left to see the expanse of petrochemical plants. In the foreground were some ponds being aerated for some reason.

As I approached the dike, I could see that it seemed to be a regular work day for many people, including most of the shipping traffic. I spotted many large cargo ships. You can see that it was a very hazy day.  And another cargo ship, paralleling the dike.

As I pass over the far end of the dike, I get another good look at the busy Bolivar Ferry boats. A few moments later, I’m almost on top of them.

The lighthouse, again underscored by a line of cars waiting for the ferry, stands at attention, an austere beauty.

I’m now looking forward, on to new territories, and immediately spot something new, a park, and on its border is an old World War II gun emplacement. On the far end of the park is another set of emplacements, and a bunker.

The beach becomes the predominant sight as I continue along the peninsula. I soon spot an unusual half-moon shaped excavation in the sand. I wonder what it’s for! You can also note that the peninsula is very narrow. Most of the rest of the peninsula consists of beach house after beach house.

At this point, my lack of planning starts to sit heavy on my thoughts. Nearby there is a small, private airport I wanted to see, but I’m not sure how to find it. The sectional just isn’t detailed enough, and I didn’t get the Lat/Long from AirNav… so, I look for it but never am sure that I see it. More than 80% of the way up the peninsula, I decide I’ve definitely passed it.

I look at my fuel gauge and know that I must turn back, or head north for Chambers County airport for fuel. I made a spot decision that I didn’t want to retrace my steps; I wanted to forge on, so I turn north toward Chambers County Airport. I look further up the peninsula at territory still unknown to me.

After I make the turn, I look back toward the southwest, along the peninsula, and get a good view of all the beach houses, disappearing into the haze.

After I cross East Galveston Bay, you can see on the map that I go right over Robinson Lake.

It has a small dam that maintains a certain water level in the lake.

Below me is Willow Marsh, which continues on for many miles. Before long, I spot Chamber County Airport in the distance. There seems to be very little traffic, so I did a quick approach and land.

I quickly refuel my plane then pulled it away from the fuel pumps. I take a quick picture of my plane with the hangar in the background, then pull out my water and candy bar, and take a break.

A few minutes later, a G.A. plane pulls up to the pump. The pilot jumps out and walks over to say hello. We chat for a while, I finish my snack, then I’m off again.

I have wanted to fly by RWJ Airpark, since I’ve only seen pictures of it, so I head that way. On the way there, among the marsh, I spot a very unusual sight: a fairly elaborate home site with a very nice house and other buildings… even a tennis court!… but no road to get there! Apparently the homeowner uses a boat to go to and from the house! Now that’s privacy!

RWJ comes up on me pretty quick and I’m in the wrong spot for a fly-over… I got distracted by that house, and by the approach to the RWJ runway over Wet Marsh Pond. I decided not to linger and head straight for the Baytown Bridge crossing.

To cross that very northern bit of Galveston Bay, I fly parallel, but south of, the Baytown Bridge. Atkinson Island extends toward the south as I cross the water.

To my right is the bridge. On a clear day, it’s a stunning sight, but today it hardly sticks out from the haze. If you look hard, on the right side, you’ll see in the distant haze the San Jacinto Monument.

I turn gradually south, following the shore. Ahead is a the Houston Yacht Club, sticking way out into the bay.

A little further on is the Kemah boardwalk and marina. The boardwalk is very popular and a nice place to have dinner and ride some carnival rides.

A few miles more and I’m crossing over Interstate 45 and I spot the Greyhound Race Park on my right.

Instead of heading straight for home, I decide to do a touch-n-go at Volk Airport near Hitchcock. I grease the landing, then take off again, leaving the few people there scratching their heads. Right after I take off from Volk, I see a building that has become a landmark because of its unusual structures. I’ve never figured out what they are for.  (Much later I find out they are the remains of a WWII blimp hangar!)

Most of the route back is over farmland… lots of corn… and I get my almost-required tractor picture. He was making a lot of birds happy!

I’m nearly home… it’s been a long trip! But, off to the south of the airfield, I spot a large plume of smoke. I decide to investigate.

As I get closer and closer, I see that it’s some farmland just north of Bastrop Bayou. It’s a grass fire, nothing major; I assume it was set on purpose for the purpose of clearing the land for plowing, but that’s just a guess. I circle the fire, takings a few pictures… then head for home.

Whew! What a long flight for being just off-the-cuff!

170 miles covered; in the air for 2 hours and 42 minutes.

 

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June 7, 2002

After I looked at the few pictures I took from my trip to Port Lavaca, I wondered it they were worthy of a story on Texas-Flyer.com. My brother — who has had his wings clipped by an engine out for quite some time — commented that “not every trip you take will be a grand adventure, but each one is still interesting.”

So, I’ve decided to post the story. It isn’t any kind of adventure; just a nice, long day of flying — with a bonus of meeting a really nice fellow ultralight pilot. I normally like to show lots of photos, but unfortunately my camera battery went dead just as I was crossing Espiritu Santo Bay.

Although Friday is normally a work day for me, this Friday I was expecting Tom Duncan to being flying his Quicksilver from George West, Texas, to Winnie, Texas. As-the-crow-flies, that’s 245 miles, quite a trip for a low-time Quicksilver pilot! But he was going to be smart and follow roads, and land often for fuel, etc. Chances are, that trip will be more along the lines of almost 300 miles when he finally tallies it up.

But, as chance would have it, the trip had to be delayed. I called him and said, “Hey, I’ve taken the day off anyway, so let’s meet halfway and, er, meet!” Like so many ultralight-pilot friends, they are “Internet friends” and I haven’t actually met them in person. Besides, it was a good excuse to take advantage of a nice flying day!

Tom left quite a bit earlier from George West than I did from Angleton, but my plane is faster so I knew I could make pretty good time. I also had a slight tail wind — which meant he had a head wind — which gave me even more of an advantage.

(The destination airport is officially “Calhoun County Airport” but many people call it the “Port Lavaca Airport” because that’s where it is. Forgive me if I interchange them.)

The direct route from my home airport, Bailes, to Port Lavaca was “overland” and Bay City was right on the way. I’ve been to Bay City a couple of times, so that was familiar territory.

The air was calm, early in the morning, and I kept climbing so that by the time I reached Bay City, I was over 2000 feet. This was a good opportunity to get a good overall photo of the airport.

I also got a good birds-eye view of the hangars. (You can see… not much activity on a Friday morning!)

After my overflight, I was now in new territory. I knew that somewhere southwest of Bay City was the South Texas Nuclear Power Plant. I also knew I needed to keep clear of it. Since I was headed in a southwesterly direction, I figured I’d see it pretty soon, and I did.

At the closest, I was around 6 miles away. During the 9/11/2001 attacks and subsequent shutdown of airspaces, there was a 10-mile (radius) no-fly zone around nuclear power plants. So, I was a little closer than I wanted to be, but my track was consistent and (I hoped) non-threatening.

Immediately to my right was a nice view of all the powerline towers coming from the power plant, parading off into the distance.

I soon spotted what I thought was an interesting railroad trestle crossing a river, the Tres Palcios River, I believe.

I was happily snapping pictures as I usually do, but it was shortly after the trestle that I noticed my “low battery” signal. Yikes! I realized I needed to conserve power, so the frequency and number of photos decreased radically at this point.

The topology continued to be coastal plains, with lots of low areas, and there were fewer farms than I thought there might be. Before long I was passing the northern tip of Carancahau Bay, with Lavaca Bay just starting to appear in the far distance.

The cloud base had been steadily ascending during this time, so I had stopped trying to keep above it and was down near my “normal” flight level, about 700 feet. The air was much bumpier here compared to the smooth air above the clouds, but it was still early in the morning and the thermals weren’t too active… yet!

Soon I was paralleling Highway 35 and I could see that it crossed Lavaca Bay (that’s Port Lavaca on the other side, and Point Comfort on the far left of the photo).

I knew it would not be wise to cross the Bay: too much water, and no place to land if I had an engine-out. (Plus, with the haze and no foreknowledge of the area, I didn’t know how congested the other side might be.) So rather than continue my parallel path, I veered northwest a bit, and skirted the very northern shoreline of Lavaca Bay. Eventually, I turned southwest again and started looking for Calhoun County Airport.

Like Bay City and Hallettsville, Calhoun County isn’t very big and was hard to spot until I was within 2 miles. The radio had been busy with two general aviaiton (g.a.) type planes — e.g. Cessna’s, Piper’s, Cherokee’s — announcing their arrival just minutes before. I watched as one approached and landed, then announced my intentions to follow suit.

Only a few moments after my announcement, I heard Tom on the radio, saying he was going to land on the turf runway at Calhoun. Heck, I didn’t even know they had one! The maps for the airport didn’t show it, so I was more than a little puzzled.

I made a short final and flew down the 5000 foot runway until I was just short of the taxiway, then landed, applied the brakes a bit, then turned off the runway. This technique gets me off these really long runways faster than if I landed “on the numbers” and taxied.

As I pulled into the tie-down area, I looked up and saw Tom approaching the turf runway… I think I saw Tom before I realized that it was a turf runway he was above. But his approach was too high — which he realized about the same time I did — and he announced an overfly, and that he’d go around to land on the big runway.

And that he did, and quickly taxied into the tie-down area, where I took this shot.

His Quicksilver was very similar to the one I used to own, except he had a bigger engine, but an older airframe. In balance, it was virtually the same, so I had fond memories while looking over his craft.

I had my spare 6-gallon gas can already filled with mogas, so I quickly poured in the oil and refueled. While doing so, Tom and I got to know each other a little better. He’s a big guy, but very affable, with a pleasant personality. It was easy to see his quiet enthusiasm for ultralight flying. We both knew that our visit had to be short — the thermals were building and getting stronger every moment — so we chatted incessantly even as we attended to our refueling chores.

Here’s a photo of him filling my 6-gallon can up with avgas for his plane.

(Oil can be mixed in after the “raw” gas is poured into the tank, but it’s better if it’s already mixed, so he was using my gas can to premix the oil.)

The airport had a small office — here’s the front door…

…which has a soft drink machine, some free cookies, and a restroom. There were 4 or 5 g.a. planes in the tie-down area when we arrived, so it seemed a bit busier than either Bay City or Hallettsville. The people running the office were very nice, and we chatted with them for a few minutes. The lady — I didn’t get her name — took this photo of Tom and myself on the tarmac.

Time to part ways, we shook and saddled up. I wanted to get a photo of him in flight, so I let him take off first, and I followed a minute later. The air was very turbulent upon take-off. Tom later told me his drive belt slipped a bit on take off and he had to dip the nose to recover. The belt dug back in and didn’t give him any problems after that, but he had a “special moment” there!

I tried to parallel him, but the turbulence was making it tough. He was gaining altitude quicker than I was, too, which wasn’t helping. My PTT (push-to-talk) switch was acting up so I couldn’t call him and ask him to be a good model. So, I grabbed a quick shot and then turned south.

I had decided to exploit my favorite attribute about flying along the beach: no bumps! So, by turning south, I’d not only get down to the coastline, but I’d get to see the old Matagorda Island Airport as well as the Matagorda Lighthouse.

Unfortunately, my camera battery was kaput by this point. (Refer to this map.)

So there aren’t any photos, but I flew down past Indianola, then around Port O’Conner and paralleled the Intracoastal Waterway until it was safe to hop across Espiritu Santo Bay to Matagorda Island. I saw the old airfield off to the right, then circled around to get a close look at the lighthouse. It’s seemed very short, very small. If I make the trip to Brownsville, I’ll be sure to take a picture then.

I then hopped across to Decros Point — the very southwestern tip of Matagorda Peninsula — and continued up the Peninsula into now familiar territory.

I saw Pierce Field, then the abandoned airport, and all the other landmarks I have seen before. I flew a lot higher than I normally do only to get a different viewpoint.

When I finally passed Freeport and turned inland for my final leg back to Bailes, the thermals and turbulence reminded me once again why I took the longer route home.

My trip to Port Lavaca was about 83 miles, and took about 1 hour 20 minutes. The trip back, via the Matagorda Lighthouse, was about 142 miles, and took 2 hours 16 minutes (62 mph average).

 

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May 19, 2002

On Sunday I had a much more modest goal than usual, to visit the tip of the Bolivar Peninsula and take photos of the Lighthouse from the air.

The day was stunning: a perfect day for ultralights. Low winds, few thermals, cool air, blue skies. It doesn’t get much better than that!

The difficulty in this particular flight was avoiding congested areas as well as the Class-E-to-the-surface around Scholes Field (Galveston’s airport)

You can see from the map that I skirted the Class E. It also looks like I took a route that involved more water overflight than was necessary. Originally I figured heading toward Pelican Island would be best, but when I was flying, it simply “felt” too close to Scholes Field to be comfortable, so I opted to fly along the Texas City Dike. In an engine-out, there aren’t very many places on the Dike I could have landed, but, still, it felt more secure than just being over water.

There is a major shipping channel that parallels the Dike (which was almost directly below me when I took this picture).

As I rounded the point, it was very dramatic to see the entire end of the peninsula with the ferry boats right below. That’s East Galveston Bay to the left, the Gulf of Mexico on the right.

Just a few moments later and I was very close to the lighthouse. It was fun not to be in that long line of traffic waiting to load onto the ferry. (On the other hand, the ferry ride is always fun, too, and usually worth the wait.)

I circled and took several photos of the lighthouse.

Although I was over marshland, avoiding any congested areas, I still felt a little uncomfortable — and seeing a Coast Guard helicopter nearby didn’t soothe my nerves, either — so I started to head back the way I came.

Off to my left (toward Galveston Island) I could see the remains of the famous concrete ship, the Selma (in the foreground).

Below me was another ferry boat, plying the waters toward Galveston.

To my right is the entire length of the Texas City Dike, stretched out in front of me.

This picture illustrates that there isn’t much there to land on — except possibly the big green area at the tip — and too many people around to do it safely.

On the shipping lane to the left of the dike, an ocean-going tug and an inland barge approach each other.

A few minutes later, I’m safely over land again. Looking to my left, I can easily see the causeway and bridge which connect Galveston Island to the mainland. The road going over that bridge is Interstate 45.

Just slightly to the right of center in that picture is the runway for Scholes Field. Even being slightly more than 5 miles away, it felt close. My altitude was about 300-400 feet for my trip so I was well below the usual flight levels at which the planes using the field would be, so I wasn’t too worried.

The rest of the trip home was very pleasant, but not much to take pictures of!

 

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May 4, 2002

SportFlyer (27XS) airport — 3 miles north of Brookshire, Texas — had announced a fly-in on Saturday, so we decided to, uh, fly in and see what it was all about. We even decided we were going to enter at least one of the contests they were offering, to find out what that was all about, too!

The contests were not going to start until about noon, so we took our time getting ready, making sure all was checked out on our planes, then finally headed that way around 10:30am.

The air was very hazy and smokey, but if you looked hard, you could see blue sky above and white clouds around… but it was hard to see them without really trying.

Our usual visual landmark for trips to SportFlyer was the power plant at Smithers Lake, but today we couldn’t see it until we were within 2 miles of it. We could hear on the radio that most general aviation wasn’t flying today. We, of course, stayed close to the ground and didn’t have any problems.

Just before we got to the power plant, Jim took this photo of me, flying over a forest.

I usually pass the power plant on the left (to the west of it), but today I decided to go around to the right (to the east) to see what it looked like from that angle.

I realized that Jim has gone the usual route — to the left of the lake — and it wasn’t too long before I lost him completely. We could still talk on the radio, so neither of us was worried. Just after the lake, I spotted this old silo.

Then, later, I over-flew this barn and corral where it looks like some serious horsing around was going on! (For you non-Texans, that was a joke… this is a very typical scene in rural Texas.)

Just as I was about to cross Interstate 10 (about 8 miles out from SportFlyer), I spot Jim at my 9 o’clock, so I radioed him and gave him my position. He spotted me at the same moment, so we cruised into the SportFlyer pattern together.

The fly-in was still a ways from gettings started, but there were some busy-bees who had started cooking burgers and hotdogs for lunch, and, well, I can’t thank ’em enough! It was great not to have to worry about getting hungry… there was absolutely no danger of that!

At some point before the last contestants arrives, I took this panoramic shot of the planes and the hangars on the west side of the airport. Keep in mind you’ll have to click on the photo to see a larger version of it!

After stuffing our faces and belly’s, we watched the organizers rally everyone together and discuss the details of the first event, the bomb drop from 100 feet. I’ve never dropped anything from a plane before, so I listened intently. After a bit of discussion, I decided my best strategy was to not go first. That way I could watch “the pros” and learn from their techniques (and mistakes).

Well, it didn’t help much… my ideas about the behavior of falling objects only applied to round, heavy object, not light, odd-shaped object that got blown around by the wind! I didn’t do very well… we’ll leave it at that.

Here is the winner on one of his drops. Look close and you’ll see the paper bag filled with flour.

On this drop, you can see the judges on the ground, dodging the bag.

 

 

The next event was the “spot landing” event. After some direction was provided, we saddled up and came around the field, low and slow. The idea is, just as you get to the “spot” you cut your power, and drop right on it. Well, that’s the theory, anyway. On my first approach, my mains touched down 20 feet away… I was going too fast and simply misjudged it.

My second pass was much better… I was going just above stall, holding it just a foot above the turf, but suddenly I stalled and touched down way short.

My third pass was just like my second, but I managed to keep my airspeed up enough to avoid the stall, got just to the line and, boom, cut the throttle, pushed the stick forward, and, BINGO!, right on the line! Wow. I was more surprised than anyone else!

Jim and I both realized that the day was pressing on, and it was later than we thought it would be by this point. We had heard rumors of rain in the area, but it was still so hazy, you really couldn’t make much of a judgement. So, we told the organizer that we were going to bail and head for home.

Just then, the third event started: the torpedo run. We decided we’d watch the first group of planes do the run, then we’d take off between groups. It was fun watching the torpedos being dropped, and kind of wished we were staying. But a few minutes later we were in the air.

I took off first and managed to get a picture of SportFlyer (looking north) as I headed south. If you look close, you’ll see the planes lined up on the west side.

Somehow, I managed to get way ahead of Jim, so he “put the pedal to the metal” and tried his best to catch up. We were steering way clear of the Richmond/Rosenberg area… the haze was still with us, and we didn’t want to have to deal with all the towers and other elements of a congested area.

As is typical, I see a tractor… this one is mowing very tall grass, and the egrets are circling and landing and munching on the various critters the tractor is revealing.

I also spot a stand of trees, left in the middle of a field. I silently saluted the farmer who decided to keep that bit of shade around for a while longer.

Just a mile before we crossed Highway 59, Jim calls out a “May Day” on the radio. I’m at about 500 feet, and he’s down at about 200 feet and appears to be slowly descending. He gets back on the radio and says he’s losing power.

I think we were both transmitting on top of each other, because he missed my suggestion to land on a road that was just in front of him. But he was a bit busy, trying to fly the plane and figure out what to do. Only a few moments later he announces that the engine is okay, again.

I was just about to thank the stars that his problem wasn’t more serious when he announced again that he was losing power. This time, he was sure it wasn’t going to get going again, so he spotted a field and headed toward it. I looked around, too, and knew he picked about the best spot that was available to him at his altitude and speed.

I circled as he approached the field, but because of my turn, my wing blocked my view for the last few seconds. When I finally leveled off, I saw the plane in the field, looking a little tipsy. He radioed that he was down, and was okay (WHEW!) but that the landing gear was broken.

I was, of course, thankful that he was okay… that was the most important thing. But I also knew we had some logistical problems. The most immediate was: he had driven us down to Bailes that morning, and he had the only key to the car. I knew that I had no choice but to land somewhere and get the key.

I started circling again, but there did not seem to be any place in the immediate area for a safe landing.  (Those fields may look smooth, but they aren’t.  Plus they have lots of holes, ant mounds, etc.)

So I started spiraling outward, looking here and there, but not spotting much. Finally, after I was about a mile away from his location, I saw a trail running beside a field, used by tractors to get to and from their work.

It looked long enough, and it looked pretty level, so without thinking any longer, I did a very quick approach and landed. Now, later on, Jim pointed out that he was impressed that I landed on such a narrow path… but until he said it, I never did notice how narrow it actually was. Well, I was very fortunate in that the wind was coming straight down this pathway… any kind of crosswind may have landed me in trouble!

After I landed, I was no longer able to reach him on the radio, so I used my cell phone to call him. Luckily, we both had them, and they were both working. I told him how to get to my location. He said that a woman who lived across the street from the field he was in had offered to drive him over to me.

While I waited, I called John Wall and told him the situation. John had done ultralight retrievals before and had a flatbed trailer that was ideal for this kind of thing. After a bit of discussion we decided it would be best if Jim came back with me in my RANS.

Shortly after I hung up with John, a van approaches and Jim hops out, thanking the lady for the ride. We talk a little and then I tell him that I think he should fly back with me. He didn’t even consider that possibility and so had not brought his headset with him. Regardless, he decided to go ahead and fly back with me.

I taxied the plane to the end of the dirt road.

Jim grabbed the tail boom and swung the plane around 180-degrees, into the wind. It was now that I noticed the telephone pole at the end of the path. It also seemed that the path had shrunk considerably, especially when I considered the gross weight of the plane had just gone up by a large factor.

Gulp! My head told me I’d make it, but after being a bit shaken by the events that had just unfolded, I was a little uneasy. I knew from past experience that I needed at least one notch of flaps for lift off with two people… and it wasn’t optional, it was necessary. I knew I’d make it, but it was a windy, gusty day and it wouldn’t be fun. I held the brake, swallowed hard, and pushed the throttle forward, all the way. A moment later, the plane was roaring and I released the brake. Off we went!

I was a bit too anxious to lift off and probably pulled the stick back too soon, but the plane still managed to lift off. The right wing was apparently right at stall, and so we drifted right, over the field, so I leveled off and waited. And waited. That telephone pole was coming up awful quick. But finally I knew the airspeed would let me pull back on that stick, and slowly, slowly, we gained 10 feet, 20 feet, 30 feet… we cleared the pole and the telephone line by about 20 feet. But we weren’t out of the woods yet.

Well, that’s because, directly in front of us, were some woods. Due to a gust, we momentarily dropped below the tops of the trees and had maybe 20 seconds before we hit them. Although I knew having the flaps on would help me with gaining altitude, I also knew that without airspeed, I’d never get that altitude. So, I made a snap decision and released the flaps, and put them at notch zero.

If the air had been calm, I would have left the flaps on, but because it was gusty, I decided I couldn’t risk the plane suddenly dropping due to wind shear and figured that airspeed was my best friend. It was only 2-3 seconds after I released the flaps that I gained 10-15 mph more airspeed. I then felt more secure in pulling the stick back and we cleared the trees by about 20 feet.

I’m sure there are those who will argue that I should have left the flaps on… that even though I was going slower, the extra lift would have kept me just as safe from wind shear. Maybe. But it didn’t seem that way to me at the time. Regardless, my method worked.

Jim had to hold his hands over his ears for the remainder of the flight. We had no way to communicate other than hand signals (but luckily we had both been scuba diving together before, and were able to communicate somewhat with hand signals we had learned to use when diving). He was doing okay, and I had my hands full. After what had just happened to him, I was very nervous about the same thing happening to me. I had to keep my rpm’s up a little higher than normal because of the extra weight, and that made the CHT run about 25-degrees hotter than normal. And I was sweating it.

But, we finally got back to Bailes… I made a straight-in approach, landed and taxied to the hangar. We quickly helped John get his tools together, put my plane away, then hopped into Jim’s car and led John to the crash site.

It was only about 30 minutes before sundown when we got there, so we had to work fast. Or, rather, I should say, John had to work fast. Neither Jim nor I knew much about taking a Challenger apart, so we merely served as go-fers for John while he worked.

The lady that had given Jim a ride showed up with her daughter, and watched for a few minutes.

Jim was pretty upset, as you can imagine. But he and John worked at taking the wings off. About an hour after we got there, with the sun below the horizon, John was nearly finished.

With the help of Brett — the lady’s son — we got the wings into the back of John’s pickup truck, and picked up the fuselage and put it on the flatbed trailer.

It had been a long, long day, and we were exhausted.

After returning to Bailes, we parked the trailer in the back. We were all too tired to do much with it at that point. The wings went into the hangar, and we locked it up.

The next day, Jim went back out to Bailes and they got the fuselage off the trailer and into the hangar. Now the rebuilding can start.

It’s easy to sit here and write down a description of the events of the day, but it’s hard to really express everything that goes into the experience… even the bad experiences have a good side: Jim did an outstanding job of bringing down his craft, safely. As a friend noted: “I hope when my time comes I can do as well… there’s a big difference in setting up for a planned simulated power off and a real, sudden engine out with no prior notice.”

And how admirable is it that John Wall stops everything he’s doing to effect a retrieval? It all could have been so much worse, so much more work, more money and effort expended. But because of good people, and good training, at the end of the day, everyone went home and went to sleep in their beds. That is what is so incredible.

— Robert

[PostScript]

Several people have expressed that the story needs some closure… i.e., what happened next? So, here’s a brief mention: My brother, Jim, survived the incident without a scratch, but, as you can imagine, his psyche was a bit battered.  Time is good at healing wounds, so both plane and pilot recovered at about the same time, and Jim is happily flying again.

The cause of the engine-out was a crankshaft failure, a relatively rare occurrence. A new crankshaft was provided by the engine manufacturer at no cost to Jim, and it was subsequently installed by John Wall.

Over time, Jim has regained his confidence in his engine, and — as you can see from the Texas-Flyer stories — has been happily venturing across this great state of Texas in his Challenger. Both he and I look forward to many, many fun days ahead, exploring more of the Lone Star State!

 

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April 28, 2002

Saturday was very windy… I don’t think it ever got below 20mph. We did a couple of turns around the home field, but that was it! Sunday was pretty pleasant — by comparison — with winds 10-15mph, so off we went on our next adventure!

At the last minute, I decided I wanted to go a little further down the Matagorda Peninsula to Pierce Field. It’s only 12 miles past our visit to the abandoned airstrip on the 13th (you can read that story here), but it seemed a worthy destination.

Traveling over familiar territory always makes it seem like the trip goes faster, and there’s less stress. So although it’s a bit of a long trip — especially in such a spontaneous manner — I knew it wouldn’t be too bad. My brother was getting pretty comfortable with his new Challenger, and I had a new way to hook up an MP3 player to my headset! And, as I always say, there’s always something new to see, even over the same routes.

Rather than heading directly for the beach, we split our heading between Freeport and Lake Jackson. To my left, I see the tall bridge leading to Surfside Beach.

Just a moment later, I get a good look at Freeport harbor. The tall structure to the right side of the main channel is a jack-up rig which has been there… well, for a long time! But not as long as the jetty. It was originally constructed in 1899.

Then I notice a large tanker ship being pushing into place by a couple of hard-working tug boats.

Just beyond the tanker is the Intracoastal Waterway, where there is almost always a barge pushing something around.

Just before we turn toward the Gulf, I see a new bridge that is being constructed.

It isn’t long before we finally reach the beach. Jim flies over large amounts of driftwood on the beach near Bryan Beach State Park.  (It’s slightly difficult to pick him out, but he’s just a bit left of center.)

He’s getting more confident (braver?<g>) on each trip, too, as he proves when he goes a-visitin’ these two shrimp boats that are about 500 yards off-shore.

I’m pleasantly distracted by the bay side of the thin barrier islands (ok, ok, so I’m also playing with my MP3 player, trying to get the volume up so I can hear La Bamba over the Rotax engine!), and before I know it, we’re flying over the abandoned airstrip!

When we were here two weeks ago, I had forgotten to take a picture, so I decided to swing around and take another shot.

Going beyond this, we are now in “new” territory for us.  Jim enjoys flying low down by the water’s edge.

It’s only 12 miles to Pierce, so, in less than 12 minutes, we’re there. As you can see, the runway kinda-sorta looks like dirt!

I didn’t think it was supposed to be, so I was a little surprised. But, we were here, so it was time to land. When I was about 20 feet above the runway, I finally saw that it was simply a dusty colored concrete.

The runway is very long, and after I landed I didn’t know exactly where to stop, so I just taxied down until I saw a windsock, then pulled off the runway. Jim was right behind me, and I took this picture of him taxiing up.

You can see the runway consists of blocks of concrete, with not a little grass and weeds growing through.

I exit my plane and bring the extra gas can around to mix the oil. Jim hops out of his, but it’s facing downwind. He has this pet theory that a plane on the ground is more stable in the wind if it’s pointed downwind since the wind should push down on the wings. As he walks toward me, I look past him to see his plane starting to roll away. “Jim!” I yell and point, “You’d better go catch your plane!” I think his theory was rolling down the runway… haha… I laughed pretty hard at his expense, but he’s a good sport!

I noticed a cactus a few yards away (not too common northeast of this point)…

…and strolled over to take a picture, when, just then, a car pulls up. (We always seem to attract a crowd!) Two gents get out and I ask permission to refuel. They are very polite and say they didn’t mind a bit. They were, in fact, fascinated. “We’ve never seen a plane like this before!” The younger man introduces himself as Mr. Pierce for whom the airfield is named.

(I’m not sure if it wasn’t actually named for his father or grandfather, but I didn’t have time to find out!) The other gentleman we met was his father, I believe.

They oo’d and ah’d over the planes as I quickly refueled. Jim was carrying auxiliary wing tanks on this trip and could “refuel” while in the air, but he double-checked them to make sure the gas was transferring properly. In this picture you can see the windsock standing out pretty straight.

We seemed to have a headwind both ways, today — kind of like going uphill both ways to school. And our daylight was running out, so we had to wave goodbye and be on our way.

Upon takeoff, I couldn’t resist a long, gradual circle around the field. I looked back and could see the airfield sitting between the bay (in the foreground) and the Gulf.

Just bayside of the field were three shrimp trawlers, two of them stern-to-stern.

I then looked around and got an even better view of the airfield.

And almost below me by this point was a small fish camp.

Then I look back, over my shoulder, looking further southwest, towards the “unknown” and see the Matagorda Ship Channel and Decros Point beyond. I’m sure that we’ll travel beyond that on our next trip down this way. But now we have to head home because the sun is going down.

As we buzz down the beach, I get busy with my camera, taking pictures of various items we come across: part of a buoy, a makeshift lean-to (is there any other kind?), another part of a buoy, and lots and lots of seaweed. It occurs to me: there’s an awful lot of trash… we should be more careful about keeping our world clean. I then took a picture… an “almost” pretty picture.

Jim and I are having a grand time…

…the wind along the beach tends to always be less bumpy than inland. Today, despite the prevailing wind from the ocean — or, maybe, because of it — it was very smooth. I’m again enjoying some music on the flight back.

The Colorado River outlet approaches and we spot some surfers in the water.

I grab a quick shot of the Matagorda Jetty as it passes close by.

The amazing thing is, not that long ago — less than 100 years — the town of Matagorda was right on the water. Due to the silt carried down by the Colorado River, the town is now about 6 miles from the Gulf and Matagorda Bay’s northern finger has been cut in half.

Before long, we’re crossing the San Bernard River outlet.

On the other side, we spot a herd of cattle on the beach.

Soon we are passing the no-man’s land just shy of Bryan Beach State Park, and very shortly we’re cruising down Quintana Beach, waving at all the late Sunday afternoon beachgoers.

At this point, we decide to save a bit of time and head straight back. We climb as quickly as we can — I spot another barge going down the Intracoastal — and are soon above and around Freeport.

 

The tanker that was being pushed around by tugboats when I passed by earlier is now snuggled into its berth.

As I cross over Bastrop Bayou…

…the sun is hiding behind the clouds, the evening air is thick with humidity. I’m ready to find the home field, but first I see something whimsical: an empty trailer park with a nest of bee hives… they are wondering, “Now why don’t people stay here?”

Finally, a last look at the sunset before I descend. Time in the air, about 3 hours. It was sweet!

– – – – – – – – – – –

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April 20, 2002

My 16-yr-old son was going to ride in the MS150 bike rally, traveling approximately 150 miles from Houston to Austin, TX. I thought it was a great excuse to go fly up in that part of the countryside, and take some pictures from the air.

The morning was cloudy (but not overcast) and with a strong wind. Even 3 months ago, I wouldn’t have considered going up in such weather, but with several long distance trips under my belt, I felt I could handle the wind. As it turns out, it wasn’t the wind, it’s the thermals that beat you up!

The plan was to fly to SportFlyer (27XS) and then fly about 5 miles north, which is where the cyclists would be traveling. I would then fly along the route for a way, taking pictures as I went. Accompanying me, as usual, was my brother, Jim, in his Challenger. After about 2 hours in the air (1 hour getting there, 1 hour of flying around), we would then return to SportFlyer where we would refuel, then head home.

Everything went according to plan. However, the thermals/gusts were severe at times, and we got beat up pretty good. The real bad news about the trip was, the bouncing around was so bad, I wasn’t able to take very many photos, but worse still was when I found out that the bouncing around had caused my exposure meter to be set wrong on the camera! Ouch! All that way, and very little to show for it.

The pictures I got were mostly overexposed, so the ones you’ll see here are some of the few that came out okay. My apologies for the poor quality.

Flying by SportFlyer on the way there… you can see how cloudy it was.

My first low-level fly-by netted me this image of some of the riders. Most of the road had either telephone poles or buildings, so this was one of the few times I could get really close.

This gives you an idea about the telephone poles.

The riders are really strung-out, not bunched up like I thought they’d be.

Ah, the sights you see in the country… yet one more grain elevator, and a sharp turn for the cyclists.

Another turn.

As close as I dared with the telephone poles. There were quite a few recumbent bikes… there’s one in this shot, on the far right-hand side, behind the rider with the dark blue jersey.

A little traffic jam in the country. I was amazed at the amount of road traffic that zipped in and out around the riders.

Obviously, the locals need to get to and from, but it just seemed really crowded (and dangerous for the riders). The riders stuck primarily to the right lane, which turned most of these roads into one-lane roads… so there were the inevitable traffic problems.

There were several break areas along the route, called SAG stops; 7 the first day and 6 the second day. This was SAG stop # 2, I believe.

Crossing an intersection.

This photo is pretty bad, but I really wanted to include it, as it shows the riders crossing the Brazos River bridge.

By this time, I’d been up for almost 2 hours, and I needed to refuel and stretch my legs, so I headed back for SportFlyer. Here is Jim’s plane and mine in front of the hangar with the fuel pump.

The trip back was much slower since we now had a 20 mph headwind… it was also even bumpier, but we decided to bide our time and take some pictures. After leaving SportFlyer, we quickly pass over Interstate 10 (looking east, toward Houston).

Here are the (almost required) tractor pictures:

In numbers 2 and 3, they seem to be spraying, not plowing.

Here’s Jim off my port side. My starboard side. Below me. And in front of me. He sure does get around a lot better in that Challenger than he ever did in his Quicksilver!

Before too long, we pass over US Highway 59. Soon, I see some kind of playground… and the power plant by Smithers Lake, with its black mountain of coal.

Just south of Smithers Lake is the George Observatory.

And, just before I get to the Angleton area, I spot an active rig, in the middle of a field, drilling for oil.

And finally, we land back at the home field, glad to be off of that rollercoaster ride!

— Robert

P.S. Oh! I almost forgot! Yes, my son finished the bike ride to Austin, with an average speed of about 16 mph (which is pretty good! I doubt I’d have done half that!) But I’ve never seen him more exhausted… a happy kind of exhausted! Quite an accomplishment for a 16-yr-old!

 

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April 13, 2002

Saturday morning… my brother, Jim, and I leave the house early in order to have plenty of time to get down to Matagorda and back before the thermals get too rough.

Arriving at the field, we see little else besides fog. But looking straight up, I can see blue sky and white clouds, so I figure the fog is thin. I’ve been up, flying around, with thin layers of fog below (photo taken 5/19/2001), so I assumed it would be the same.

Boy, was I wrong!

I was first for take off, with Jim following immediately behind.

Immediately after I broke through the fog, it became very apparent this was not like before. The layer of fog covered everything; only the ground directly below me was visible. As I began to circle the field, I realized that any moment my brother would pop up out of the fog… maybe I’d get a great shot!

Well, it’s hard to make him out, but that little dot in the center-left side of the photo is him, just after he popped out of the fog. You can see the tops of the power-line towers. It was an awesome sight.

I slowed down a bit so Jim could catch up and then radio’d him that I was sure the fog would thin out as we went. We followed our GPSes and our knowledge of the area (by looking straight down at landmarks). Here you can see a shot of Jim with a radio tower sticking up out of the fog.

It was so dramatic, seeing Jim’s plane against the fog, I couldn’t resist taking some more pictures.

But, the fog was getting thicker, not the other way around, and in front of me seemed to be, well, a wall of fog. There was no doubt in my mind: it was time to turn back. We faithfully followed our GPS and landmarks and easily found the field again, then landed.

While on the ground, I took advantage of the time by taking a picture of my plane, Jim’s plane, and the two planes together. You can easily see it’s still foggy.

Finally, about an hour later, the fog starts to lift, and so we take off again. The fog is now off the ground and in the more familiar form of clouds. But they are low to the ground (this is a shot of the home field).

We easily climb above them and, at 2500 feet, I get a dramatic shot or two of Jim among the clouds.

Jim was able to get two pictures of me.

30 minutes or so later, we are approaching the coast. This is a canal, lined with houses, that stretches out to the Gulf.

And just to my left is a winding bayou, also lined with houses.

We finally reach the coast and I take a picture through my windshield of the beach as it stretches out in front of me.

Off on my left, not more than 100 yards off-shore is a shrimper, trolling for those tiny, tasty crustaceans.

Although most of the beach was empty, we would occasionally fly over small groups of houses…

…and then again find ourselves over deserted beaches. Here is a dramatic photo of Jim breezing over the sand at about 20 feet.

Before long, we reach (what we had previously agreed upon to be) our halfway point. Rather than trying to find a stretch of flat beach to land on — to do our refueling — we come upon a deserted airstrip. It’s too tempting to pass up, so we land.

Not 5 minutes after we land, a couple of guys in a pickup truck come over and ask us to leave. We assured them we had no plans to stay, that we were just having to refuel. “Oh, well, if you have an emergency, then it’s okay!” one of them assures us. It’s funny how deserted the beach can look, yet there are people all around.

The guys in the pickup leave, we refuel — taking our time since we also wanted to stretch our legs a bit — and finally take off again.

I got halfway back to the home field before I realized that I forgot to take a picture of the abandoned airstrip from the air! Oh well!

Shortly after we start to head back, I start to have radio problems.

I look around for a place to land and decide to try the beach. I tell Jim to hold back and watch, and I make a really rough, bouncing landing. I need to work on picking out flatter sections of beach, because this one was anything but flat. The undulations really gave me a roller coaster ride… well, actually worse, since there were several hard bumps. The plane seemed to be okay, but I knew Jim shouldn’t try to land, so I take off again.

Not far down the beach we spot a dirt road that looks rarely used. It’s flat and straight, so I line up and land. Jim is right behind me. Turns out to be a good spot and both our landings were great. We always seem to draw a crowd, and we get a visitor within a few minutes of shutting off the engines.

He was a guy from Michigan, with a beach house nearby, and an ex-Bonanza pilot, and wanted to get a closer look. He chatted, and Jim and I wolfed down some cookies, candy bars and water. I checked my antenna to see if that was the problem with my radio, but it’s okay. I finally decide the battery on the radio is getting low, and causing the problem. I answer his questions about my plane, and then we finally say adios to the chatty fellow, and take off.

On the way back I take several more shots of Jim…. here’s one.

While crossing the mouth of the San Bernard River, I get this picture of a kayaker. It’s stating the obvious, but look how muddy! Yech.

We flew about 150 miles that day, but it took us a lot longer than we thought it would since we had the fog-detour in the early morning.

 

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April 5, 2002

This is the day that Jim will solo, for the first time, in his new Challenger!  We start out by taking him up in the RANS and let him fly it a bit.

After I land and he’s taking care of some final details with the new plane, I take off again and take a few interesting pictures near the beach.

… and, as the sun sets, it’s time to set her down…

… BUT!

Jim is there, sitting in his “new” Challenger, looking like he’s ready to take off on his first solo flight (the only kind there can be in a single-seater!)  Here he is, warming up the Challenger

… and I decide to take off after he does and take pictures of him in the air…

… I then decide to land to capture his triumphant return…

… a big day for Jim!

 

 

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March 23, 2002

A friend of mine, Tom, spends occasional weekends helping build a replica of a Fokker D.VII in a place near Seguin, TX, a place I simply called “Rogers Place”. (On the sectionals, it’s called ‘Old Kingsbury Aerodrome’, 85TE, with a turf ‘runway’ 2600 feet long x 100 feet.)  Tom and I thought it would be kinda cool for me to fly over there to visit, so I started planning my longest cross-country trip yet. From Angleton, TX to Seguin, TX is about 149 miles, as the crow-flies, so about 300 miles round-trip. My longest trip before this was only about 110 miles.

Using various tools (Streets & Trips, AeroPlanner, and — of course — the FAA sectionals) I carefully planned my route, my waypoints, landmarks, and my refueling stop. The overview map should be at the top.

One of the biggest questions in my mind was: what kind of landing spot was there awaiting me at the end of the trip? I could never quite get out of Tom the kind of runway that was at Rogers Place, but I knew they flew planes out of it, so it had to be okay for my ultralight. When the planning was finished, what I ended up with was two sectionals with the flight path noted, and a piece of paper with every landmark detailed, and every enroute airport noted (with radio frequencies, elevation, etc.). These documents were placed on a kneeboard for easy access while flying.

I also spent hours studying the weather for the weekend and, finally, on Friday night, decided it was going to be a splendid Saturday, and that I was “good to go.”

After the drive down to Angleton, I took my time to make sure everything was just right and that I didn’t forget anything. I finally hopped into my RANS S12-XL at 8:30am, as planned, and turned the key. All I heard was a little grinding noise… the battery was, well, not quite dead. Ugh. All that planning, and now this.

After a few minutes of making sure that the problem was indeed the battery charge, I decided to jump-start my battery using my car battery. I pull my car around, hooked up the jumper cables, made sure the brakes were set, and… vrooooooommmmm! it started right up! Whew! First time I’ve ever done that! I knew the battery would charge as I flew, so I wasn’t too worried about it. (I also figured out how the battery got low, but I won’t embarrass myself further.) Time of departure: 8:45am.

My GPS and radio intercom are independently driven by internal batteries but I’ve augmented them by having the planes’ battery drive them, too. But I’m using a temporary connection to power them and when I jump-started the battery, I disconnected that temporary connection. It wasn’t until I was 10 minutes into my flight when I noticed I couldn’t hear my radio. It was then I realized I hadn’t reconnected them to the planes’ battery, and that the internal battery in my intercom must be dead. Worse, though, is that I knew the GPS was running off its internal battery and they may not last the trip. (Yes, I had LOTS of spare batteries with me but I didn’t relish having to change them while in-flight.) So, I knew there was an airport (Lackey) at mile 39, right on the way and about 10 more miles from where I was at that moment.  I could land, reconnect the wires, and be off again, without much delay. Just as I had decided to do this, I looked over and… there was an airport!

Well, it was a runway, hard-surfaced, and a hangar, but not much else. There were no numbers on the runway, and it looked pretty dilapidated. Furthering that impression were the cattle that were grazing at one end of the runway. There was also some kind of general-aviation type aircraft sitting out near the hangar and it was surrounded by 5 cows. This “airport” was not on the FAA sectional. It became the “Mystery Airport” in my mind. (*see postscript at the bottom of this story for the “solution” to the mystery airport) It looked ideal for what I wanted to do.

I made a quick decision: go for it! I made a quick approach and landed. I hopped out, reconnected the wires, then hopped back in and took off. The entire process took maybe 2 minutes and, including landing AND taking off, I hardly used up 1/3rd of the runway.

So I was back in the air, happy that I didn’t have to worry about the batteries in the GPS and intercom.

As planned, about 10 more miles later was Lackey Airport.

These photos (and the others below) may give you some idea about how hazy and smoky the morning was. It was actually a lot worse… I’ve manipulated these photos to make them clearer.  For example, the above picture of Lackey Airport looked like this before being doctored to make it clearer.

You can see a dramatic difference and truly how smoky and hazy it was.

I had a pretty good tail-wind and frankly, I like flying low, so I just kept between 500 and 800 feet AGL so I could see a bit better through the haze. The next landmark was the town of Wharton, by the banks of the Colorado River:

Only a minute later, to my port side, was Wharton Regional Airport: fairly large by small-town-Texas standards. I kept well clear of it so this picture only shows it at a distance.

As you may already be able to tell, this part of Texas is mostly farmland with a few forests thrown in for good measure. Being a farmer is a very lonely profession and you have to admire them for their fortitude. One of my favorite types of photos is the “tractor in a field”… On almost every trip, I see one. On this trip, I saw many.

You can also see that farmers try their best to maximize their fields as much as possible, often to the detriment of the living space around their farmhouses.

And here is an image which conveys another Texas reality… the ever-present oilfield…

…look near the top right corner and you’ll see a small patch taken out of a field, where a “Christmas Tree” is pumping oil into the storage tanks. In some parts of Texas this is a very common sight.

… and even more farmland… for you beer fans, these fields are near Shiner, Texas, the home of Shiner Beer. I’m sure that the hops, barley and other ingredients are grown in these fields…

One hour and thirty-five minutes after I left Angleton (including my quick detour to the Mystery Airport) I arrive at the Hallettsville Airport (34R). As you can see, there’s not much there to speak of, except the one thing I need: an automated gas pump.

The gas pump took a credit card… you dispensed what fuel you needed, and it charged you. Amazing technology, eh?

After I added the avgas to the plane, I then poured in the appropriate amount of oil and sloshed it around by moving the wing.

The “Comfort Station” was a good idea… except that the door was padlocked. Oh well.

I had taken along a very small footstool that I intended to use to help me in my refueling task (the fuel cap is on top of the wing). At my home hanger I have a nice, large ladder. I didn’t want to have to worry about how I was going to manage refueling by myself when I got to Hallettsville. As it turns out, there is a ladder there at the refueling station at Hallettsville! So I didn’t really need it (yet I was still glad I had it). So, Hallettsville gets a B+ grade… it would have been an A+ except for the locked Comfort Station.

Back in the air again, I had about 58 miles to go before I reached Rogers Place/Kingsbury. The next visual landmark was the town of Shiner, Texas.

The haze is still around (even though the pictures at Hallettsville, from the ground, made it look pretty nice) and some clouds are starting to appear. You can see the shadow of one on Shiner, above. I don’t know if you can tell but the terrain is gradually changing from being paper-flat to slightly hilly.

What I haven’t mentioned yet is that it turned out to be a VERY breezy day with strong gusts among the strong thermals. Winds increased up to 25mph, which was way more than predicted. I still had a tail-wind heading West but I knew it’d be a much longer trip back.

Next was the town of Gonzales… and somewhere in that picture is the small Gonzales airport (T20) but I never could figure out where it was.

I next passed over the beautiful San Marcos River… the photo doesn’t do it justice as the water was fairly blue, unusual for a river in Texas (most are muddy brown), but much of the San Marcos River is fed by springs.

I apologize for these poor pictures… the gusts and thermals were so bad, I had a hard time taking pictures and an even harder time getting the plane to move out of the way!

After crossing over Interstate-10 I only had 3 miles to go… and, finally, here it was, Rogers Place/Kingsbury Aerodrome.

As you can see, it’s one huge field, with no discernible runway. I circled the field twice to try and figure out where I should be landing. Eventually I simply touched down just to the right of where the windsock is, alongside that lighter-colored grass strip. The field was fairly smooth. I taxied over to the building on the left, where Tom and some others were waiting.

Here is a photo of my plane next to the workshop.

Rather than just a single project, the building on the left — the workshop — contained a large number of antique aircraft in various stages of construction (rather, re-construction). Below are several photos I took of the aircraft and other vehicles in the building on the right.

Thomas-Morse S4C “Scout”

Tom knew what each one was (which impressed me, but then he could always do that!). Regarding the “Scout” above, Tom reports:

The Scout was supposed to be America’s indigenous design WWI fighter. Thomas-Morse hired an ex-Sopwith designer and gave him a clean sheet of paper. His creation was too far behind the curve to be competitive in combat. US flyers flew British or French fighter aircraft in combat and Thomas-Morse Scouts served stateside as advanced trainers. There were enough of them around that they frequently showed up in Hollywood movies in the 20’s and 30’s when someone needed WWI fighters.

Here Tom is showing me a Nash Quad. It had four-wheel drive and four-wheel steering… used as an early farm truck. It also looks like it used candles to drive the headlamps!

Ford Model-T Army Ambulance

Below, a Blériot XI. “A replica of the English Channel aircraft. Very difficult to fly due to the slow speeds and highly cambered airfoil.” Tom mentioned that there is only a few miles-per-hour difference between stall speed and cruise speed!

Pietenpol Air Camper – powered by a Ford Model “A” engine. Possibly, a 1934 design.

Another Model T ambulance

You’re starting to see that I got a lot more than I bargained for. This was an entire museum! Out back, someone had donated a fleet of old trucks but they were in pretty bad shape.

Tom poses in front of one of the better specimens.

Some of these old trucks had wheels that were made of both iron and WOOD!

I couldn’t help thinking that once, a long time ago, this was someone’s pride and joy.

And an old “GMC” logo on the grill.

Ok, enough of the back-40…. we’re now back in the workshop. Sitting next to the wing that Tom is working on (which is behind where I’m standing to take this next picture), is “an airplane being built by another volunteer named Vern Hatch. This fuselage is a replica of a Curtiss “Canuck”, a Canadian-built Curtiss Jenny, though there are a lot of little detail differences between the two. Vern has the wings and tail surfaces covered and about 95% of the fuselage systems installed. His big hold-up is waiting for Roger to finish overhauling the Curtiss OX-5 engine which will power the airplane. They hope to have this aircraft flying in time for this year’s Air Fair in late May.”

And here’s Tom, standing in front of the wing that he’s been working on for about 3,000 years…

Tom says, “This is the one-piece top wing… about 30 feet in span.”

Yep, Tom, that was r-e-a-l exciting, wasn’t it? Okay, back to sight-seeing… (Ha, ha, just kidding (not really)… but you have to have tons and tons of patience to work on these kinds of projects. I’m not sure if I’m proud of him or just think he’s crazy… probably a bit of both. Here’s a little more info on the plane he’s working on: “The airplane I am working on is a replica Fokker D.VII. This was a German WWI fighter generally regarded as one of the best fighters to come out of WWI. We won’t have an original Mercedes engine to power the bird, we are going to use a US engine called a Ranger. To date, we have completed (save for covering), the top and bottom wings, tail surfaces, and about 70% of the fuselage and it’s systems, excluding the engine. We have an engine, but we have not started the rebuild.”

More sight-seeing: here is a World War I observation balloon basket…

…and, finally, I get a look inside the back room of the workshop, with — as you can see — lots of propellers, wing assemblies, etc.

And there were lots of different kinds of engines sitting around, like this rotary engine. The cylinders (surround by the cooling fins) actually rotate around the crank. “Rotary engines were extremely odd motors, but saw extensive duty early on because they offered the highest power to weight ratio of any aircraft engine up through WWI. Rotary engines have the crankshaft stationary and the entire engine revolves around it! The propeller is solidly bolted to the crankcase. It’s pretty amazing to watch one run….”

What I didn’t take pictures of would fill a large photo album!

Here are some notes with more information about Roger and his place.

After some kind hospitality on the part of Roger, an abbreviated lunch, and a little hangar flying with the others that were helping out, I decided it was time to head home. I knew I’d be fighting a headwind so I knew it would take much longer to get home. Plus, being in the afternoon, the thermals would be even worse.

I refueled from my own 5-gallon tank, gave a brief wave of thanks, I took off heading East, heading back to Hallettsville.

I crossed Interstate 10 again…

…and one hour, seventeen minutes later, I approached my refueling station at Hallettsville.

On my first visit to Hallettsville, there was no one around and not a plane in the sky. On this return visit, after I had finished refueling, a Cessna landed and came around for some gas. I pulled my plane out of the way and finished putting the oil in. They came over for a chat while I munched on a Snickers bar and drank some water.

On the way to Hallettsville I tried to get above the turbulence but it was still bumpy and laborious at 3,000 feet. So, since I prefer flying low and there wasn’t much difference between the two altitudes, I decided to stay at about 700 feet AGL for the rest of the way back. Flying low means there are interesting things to see:

…a grass fire…

…a “rocking horse” oil well bisecting a field…

…another farmer toiling in the fields…

…and an interesting highway interchange…

Finally, eight hours and twenty-one minutes after I left Bailes I got back to my home field. My brother is there to record my return…

Time of arrival: 5:15pm.

Overall, the trip consisted of four legs — none of which were further than the distance I had covered before on other excursions. However, due to the strong headwind on my return, the time in the air was the longest I have yet experienced. I learned one thing for sure: buy a headset that doesn’t press on your ears…. oooooOOOOOUUUUCCCCHHHHHH!

There were times on the return trip when the headwinds were 25mph! But most of the time they were only (only!) 10-15 mph. It’s a little depressing to be going 70mph but only showing a ground speed on the GPS of 45 mph. That makes for a long trip!

Here are the statistics of the trip:

Things I’m really glad I took along:

Given a slightly better day (less gusty/thermal-ly/hazy), and a headset that doesn’t squash the ears, I can easily see that doing 300 miles per day is about the best I could hope for. On an extraordinary day, I might be able to get in 400 miles, but I’m not sure if my legs or butt will be very happy about it. Yes, I know I did 323 miles on a less-than-“better day” but my ears paid the price and it wasn’t as much fun as it would have been. But I’m glad I did it and I’ll do it (or something like it) again someday… probably someday soon.

— Robert

* POSTSCRIPT
Mystery Airport — SOLVED!

After writing all this, I decided to look one more time at the sectional, and after a bit of study, I think I found the “Mystery Airport.” Use the sectional as a guide (this represents about 1/2 of the first leg of the trip)…

Near the bottom right, you’ll see my home airport, Bailes. The black line that goes out of Bailes, to the NW, then turns WNW and goes right over Lackey airport, that is my intended track. However, the dashed light-red line indicates my actual track. I went much further north when I left Bailes than I thought I would. The red arrow points to a closed airport (the magenta circle with the X through it). This, I’m 99.9% sure, is the mystery airport. I remember the stacks being right there, too, so that’s got to be it. I was much further north than I realized and I was (when seeing the mystery airport) much further west than I thought. When I glanced at the sectional while in flight, looking to see what airport it might be, I thought I was somewhere around the “08” symbol (in the middle of the sectional) and I thought I was nearer the track (the black line). So from that perspective, I thought there was no airport around. I’m actually relieved that it’s indicated on the sectional. As an ultralight, even closed airports are good to know about! But ya gotta watch out for cattle on the runways!

Eventually, this airport re-opened and is called “New Gulf” [1TX4].

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