The Day the Snow Came Down

 Don't ask me why. I don't understand.

12-14 inches of snow in 36 hours is enough.

The picture was taken 5 days afterward and even today, a week after, the runway is still covered. 

I don't ski. My airplane doesn't ski. In weather like this we also don't fly because we can't takeoff or land.

People in Wisconsin are prepared for this sort of thing. We aren't.

Spring will come. It always does. Granny said so.

The Day the Rains Came Down

We're famous around here for changeable weather. The mountains, they say, make their own and we take what the mountains give us. In the case of 8NC9, Johnson Field, the home of the Western North Carolina Air Museum, the mountains and their friends, the beavers, endow us with enough rain at times to make for a perfect venue for seaplanes. Here are some pictures from last month's showers:

  

Looking northwest at runway 32. The beavers, cute little buggers that they are, build dams along the natural drainage creeks and cause havoc for airport people.

More pics:

Fortunately, the mountains also protect us - these were pictures of the aftermath of unusual rains courtesy of Hurricane Michael that devastated the panhandle of Florida and raised havoc all the way to New England. The floods recede and eventually everything gets back to normal.

Time and tide eventually win the day and we are back in business. The field stays a bit soggy in places for about four days after one of these downpours but at that point the crown of the runway is dry enough for a little soft field practice.

Here it is, November, and the weather has been absolutely perfect for flying all this first week ... which, of course changes tomorrow. Warm gives way to cold, calm gives way to wind, fall gives way toward winter - though we've been very fortunate so far to have had a gentle introduction. 

The CallAir Cadet is flying beautifully and graced me with one of those "are we down yet?" landings. Can it get any better?

Why I Love Little Airports

There's no doubt, I am a little airport kind of guy. My first boss out of the Navy once asked me where I wanted to be a few years hence and I told him I'd like to be in a chair at a little airport with a grass runway, watching little airplanes takeoff and land. He thought I was nuts.

 

A few years back here in the NC mountains, we had a little get together for Cubs and classic airplanes. The weather didn't cooperate but we went ahead and had a great time anyway.

Click on the pics to make them bigger ... these past couple of weeks we've had some great local fly-ins in the nearby flatlands. Laney's barbecue and fixins - always a big hit - and the Miller residential AirPark fly-in are both popular.

 

From way down South in Florida, Connell's Wahoo Ranch and Dr. Pete's "Back Achers" (he's a retired chiropractor) haul in the traffic from all over Central Florida.

 

It's as American as you can get. This picture is from the Antique Airplane Club of Greater New York  collection of pictures on Facebook.

So who's nuts? Pull up a chair.

 

September Hurricanes, Tailwheel Follies, Looks Back, Looks Ahead

Just when we thought we'd escaped hurricane season ...

Florence bore down on the coastal Carolinas and taught us Mother Nature can be ... instructive ... As in, who's Boss.

Naturally, being fond of machines that harness moving air to generate lift, I was concerned for people and airplanes that lived in the path of this storm. It was a Category 4 hurricane, no trifling late summer breeze. Once ashore and westbound along North Carolina, *poof* it was just breezy rain. Our mountains did their job.

Fun stuff ... working to re-do some of the tailwheel steering and rudder/brake pedal components on the CallAir. Nothing really serious, just detail work that takes friends from across the country to help with photos and advice. 

Our local airfield at the Western North Carolina Air Museum will be out of service for a few days until the accumulated rain water has a chance to drain away, giving me time to assess the work that needs to be done and arrange for someone to do it.

I've learned a lot about restoring a one-of-a-kind airplane.

Today is battle of Britain Day. September 15, 1940:

Prime Minister: "All up?"
Dowding:  "All up, sir."
Prime Minister: "Reserves?" 
Dowding:  "None, sir."

Their finest hour.

When August Comes

The view up Runway 32 at Johnson Field (8NC9)

Not much happening today, which is a pretty  good excuse for doing the things we do well around here, namely sit in the rocking chairs and talk about everything under the sun, including airplanes. Spontaneous lethargy should be a college major Down South.

Mark was a yankee but he went to NC State so that makes him OK. We've bemoaned the lighting in our hangar for some time (not that we're there at night but those hours in the chairs have to produce something to discuss). Last week we took the bull by the horns and finished installing the LED overhead lights ... the result is that we will have a place to go when we are looking for stuff to do in the dark winter months. Now, for heat ...

Last Tuesday's EAA Chapter meeting was another successful cookout and jawboning session. The RV builders/flyers dominated the outdoor displays but there were other fly-bys and plenty of good food and conversation. One young fella who was here from California to finish his instrument rating with Greg at Smokey Mountain Aero got his first ride in a Subaru-powered RV-8. Nice guy and seems to be in line to make a good career start in the aviation field. 

The little airports are the future of our aviation discipline - no matter if someone has an eye set on a professional career or just wants to fly for the pure fun of it. We can't just stand by and watch them disappear, which is why EAA chapters and local organizations make the effort to bring in new blood. It's working in a lot of places, including here.

I can't let the opportunity pass to wish my friends at the Antique Airplane Club of Greater New York good weather for this weekend's annual fly-in at Bayport Aerodrome, the last municipally owned grass runway on Long Island. It was great to be with you while I was a Confederate spy, repatriating yankee money, and I miss your company.

 

July is for Flying! (One way or another)

I was getting all tuned up for Oshkosh and was set to go this morning (Saturday), overnight stops all guesstimated and otherwise arranged for the CallAir Cadet to make its grand appearance on Monday morning of the show ... then the weather conspired to put a low pressure area east of my route and a high pressure west of the route, creating a venturi that I'd have to slog through to get there. Flight-only time went from 7.5 hours to 13.5 hours and the first part over the mountains would have been rough. Nope. Uh-uh. Ain't gonna.

 

Trace a line from western NC to OSH and that's what I'd have been going through.

I've been there before. In 2001, I flew my Cub from Florida to Long Island NY in roughly the same conditions, minus the mountains. The first hundred miles took over 2 hours. The route was along an interstate highway and everything, I mean everything, on the road was passing me. The next hundred was little better and the end result was that it took me roughly the same time to go the first 400 miles than it would've had I been in a slow car - in traffic. Eventually, it took three days to get there.

It's a darned shame I didn't make it to Oshkosh. Earlier this month, Mark and Darwin and I teamed up to get some nice inflight pictures of the Cadet for General Aviation News and they used one of the shots on the cover of the magazine, which came out a couple of days before AirVenture. I was all set to show off the airplane and maybe have it judged. Maybe sell it. 

What to do ... what to do ... what to do ... ?

Why not? 

Airplanes, Fast Growing Grass and Rock Eating Poodles

It doesn't seem to matter whether the weather is naughty or nice, the grass does grow and - when it doesn't - the dog eats a big rock that gets stuck in her gut and that, in turn, eats into my flying budget  ... pfft ... if it weren't for that I'd just spend the money on dead dinosaurs and send them into the atmosphere. So that's my contribution to the effort to curb Global Warming and bring harmony to Mother Earth.

On the plus side, the airplane is gassed up and ready to fly and 8NC9 is dry and mowed. All that is needed is a couple of hours to commit lift.

I will only write this once: DO NOT LET YOUR DOG EAT ROCKS. Lest you think rock-eating dogs and airplanes do not go together, how much avgas can you buy for the money you have to spend on vets and pet hospital ICUs when your dog does manage to slip one in and get it stuck? It's painful for both the dog and the wallet.

She's back home after showering the vet with a cruise and gas for the Porsche but she's not 100% yet.

 Now to order the new wheel and spindle for the mower (I managed to break it on a hidden stump when I was zooming around on the tractor last week). Note to self: Do not zoom around on tractors while mowing. 

We are full of admonition today. Etc.

 Maybe the stars will align. Maybe I will fly tomorrow. Oh please. Oh please.

 

May is for Flying in the NC mountains!

I'm doing a little basking in the satisfaction that comes from introducing the CallAir Cadet to friends, old and new, who belong to the Experimental Aircraft Association and the Vintage Aircraft Association. In the January 2018 issue, the EAA magazine, Sport Aviation, had a nice mention in the section toward the back entitled "What our Members are Building/Restoring":

 Then, in the May/June issue of Vintage Airplane, the larger story of not only the restoration but the background of the design. It originated as the Interstate Cadet in 1939-40 which was used to train a lot of pilots through the Civilian Pilot Training Program before and during the World War II years.

 The CallAir Cadet is one of a kind - the only one produced by the Call Aircraft Company of Afton WY. You can dig back through the blog for my entries or, better yet, join the VAA and ask for the magazine.

We're flying regularly and enjoying springtime in the mountains. 

Y'all come.

What's more fun than a small town Air Fair??

Hooray! It's finally springtime in the mountains!

 

 ... and the fine folks at the Western NC Air Museum are busy serving breakfasts on the first Saturdays of the month and making big plans for the Air Fair coming up on the first weekend in June ...

 Our Air Fair is open to the public and always draws a good crowd. Volunteers give airplane rides and the kids love our very original "ornithopter", powered by a hit-and-miss farm engine. The pok-a-pok-a-pok-a sound is as entertaining as just about anything. The antique car crowd shows up, too.

 

Achieving temporary immortality

At last !  I am a pilot of distinction !  Having survived brushes with imminent demise, screwed up thises and thats, a couple of embarrassments (ok, more than a couple) and a few more unmentionables, I can now claim to be THE HIGHEST-TIME LIVING, ACTIVE CALLAIR S1 PILOT IN THE WORLD!  

Lest you think this is some trifle in the annals of aviation, please allow me to explain: I am the ONLY living, active CallAir S1 pilot in the world. The few became the fewest and, thankfully, I'm it. It's a status that is, if you pardon my allusion, perishable, as long as I can avoid being the "perishee".

It also happens to be that time of the year when the annual inspection is due. Many of my fellow aviators opine that airplanes are worn out more by unscrewing things and screwing them back in than by flying. The hours-flown total for the last year is quite low, partially because minor re-do items had to be re-done after the restoration, a little bit owing to weather and mostly because I do more talking than flying these days. Now that some of the kinks are being worked out I hope to do more flying this year.

The first grand plan is to wend my way South to the annual Sun-n-Fun Fly-in at Lakeland FL next month. I tried this last year and didn't make it because the airplane wasn't out of the shop. This year, the fly-in comes first and the shop second. I hope it works out.

Dave in South Carolina made up a custom aerosol can of paint for my rudder/brake pedals and I hope to have them reinstalled when the weather turns warmer later this week. 

No flying today. The wind is howling outside and the temps took a dive this morning - today just happens to be the 25th anniversary of the "Blizzard of '93" in the North Carolina mountains, a date that will live forever around here. I must sound like a really old fogey when I spin that yarn to my grandchildren but I don't care - I used to listen to the old timers when I was that age and still remember some of their tales. The older I get, the more I appreciate them and wish I could turn back the clock. If I could, I'd make more of an effort to listen and remember.

Springtime Flying - Getting Ready

At about this time of the year there is a stir in hangars across the country. Engines that have been sitting quietly are running up, heating the oil so it'll drain more quickly to make room for fresh oil; wood props are being re-torqued; pulleys and pedals are lubricated and flexed; cable tensions, safety wires, cotter pins, all checked. It's the gradual wake-up for spring flying and it's a sure sign that there are pancakes and barbecue and eggs and grits and bacon at little airports within 100 miles of wherever you are (unless you are in someplace where elbow room is 100 miles or more).

If you've found a place on the web called "Social Flight", you've found a good place to look for flying goings-on. The Western North Carolina Air Museum breakfasts on the first Saturday of the month are found there (the first one this year -2018- will be in April) but other local happenings aren't - you just have to know somebody who knows somebody who knows. 

Mornings in the North Carolina mountains can be misty, rainy, wet, icy or beautiful when it comes to flying weather. My go-to page for up to date weather has been the government's page, but there are others. I'm old school and like to read prog charts but that's not everyone's cup of java.

Long story short, there is flying to be done and fun to be had doing it and if you don't get out there and do some of it you might just as well take up - ulp - tiddledywinks.

Be the old man

Jamie Beckett is a very good aviation journalist. His article in this morning's news feed reminded me of a kid I knew, only it was 6 miles to the airport, not two. The pilots sat around a low table in a small room with low ceilings and open rafters, the smoke from the fireplace that never seemed to draw quite right ever present. Sometimes they'd let me get them a beer from the fridge in back while they pulled their old cards on the table; Air Transport Command, this squadron, that squadron, etc. The broken props on the wall, shirttails with names and dates for student pilots who had made their first solo flight, big green charts, a combat boot hanging from a rafter next to a stuffed owl ... these were the icons of my first exposure to the magic of aviation that eventually blossomed into a career. Those kids at the airport fence, they're the ones who will fly into the future. Hand one a broom.

From General Aviation News:

FEBRUARY 20, 2018 BY JAMIE BECKETT

The kid’s pace slowed as the tree line fell behind, the green grass of the airport coming into view. Pedaling slower while steering the bike off the main thoroughfare and onto the little used service road, the kid’s eyes scanned the grounds.

Beyond the chain link fence, the Do Not Enter signs, and the undeveloped buffer that lay between the rest of the world and the runway, there were rows of hangars.

Some of the hangars were small. Just big enough to fit a single airplane inside. A few of the doors of these smaller hangars stood open, their tenants milling about nearby as they rolled aircraft in, or out, or washed a layer of earthbound grime or formerly airborne insects off the painted surfaces.

Another kid, not much older than the one on the bike, wiped a chromed propeller blade with a bright yellow cloth. An adult, maybe the lucky kid’s father or grandfather, wiped the opposing blade with a similar looking piece of fabric.

The kid envied that youthful counterpart, even if he was doing a required chore. He was touching an airplane. A real airplane. One that flies and everything.

Just 100 yards or so down the road the hangars grew. They got taller, wider, and deeper. Whopper big airplanes sat inside waiting for action. Some were near the front of the hangar, the sun glinting off their brightly colored skins. Others were farther into the cavern, partially disassembled. Engines poked out from their mounts, their covers removed, their dull metal naked to the world, clearly visible even to the curious eye of a bicycle riding 12 year old.

The kid could barely see what sort of treasures were hidden in the shadows at the back of those big hangars. But he dare not stop. The fence was high. The Do Not Enter signs were plentiful. There were people in those hangars. Men and women, young and old. They’d turn an intruder into the authorities for sure.

The kid kept pedaling. Slowly, but never wavering. Forward progress was imperative. This was no place to give the appearance of being a thief, or a terrorist, or the kind of kid who might climb a fence when nobody was looking. Nothing good could come from that. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

Over the summer the kid’s route stayed the same. Two miles from the house to the airport. Two miles home again. Every day. Sometimes twice.

The sights and sounds of the airport and the flying machines in those hangars stuck with the kid. Flying became a constant preoccupation. Overnight the kid’s dreams were populated with those exact same airplanes, coming from the very same hangars on the daily route.

A hangar at a Wisconsin airport. (Photo by Larrcy Stencel).

Throwing caution to the wind on the very next visit, the bike slowed, stopped, and fell over into the soft grass beside the service road. Seeing no police cars or military vehicles nearby, one foot inched toward the fence, then another, then a full step. Suddenly the kid’s face was pressed to the fence’s galvanized steel links. They were sharp and poked young cheeks.

Pulling back a fraction of an inch, the hangars seemed to call out, inviting a curious kid sporting a head full of dreams inside.

The big hangar where the mechanics were busy mending and maintaining machinery caught the eye. At least five airplanes were visible. Some were big. The kid surmised there must be lots of seats inside. Others were small. Very small. But they must be easier to fly, the kid thought. Maybe that’s where you start. Maybe I could fly one of those…someday…maybe…

From out of the shadows in the back of the hangar came an old man. A really old man. The kid guessed he was 50 if he was a day. In one hand he held a cup. Probably coffee. Old people drink coffee. In the other a grease-soaked rag. He spotted the kid. The kid froze. The old man raised the rag and gestured with it. The kid ran. Back to the bike. Back to the service road. Two miles home. No looking back.

The kid didn’t go back the next day, or the next. But the lure of the airport, the hangars, the flying machines, and the sounds they all made was too much to ignore, even if it did mean he might get arrested for trespassing. Even if they did haul kids off to the pokey and call their parents at work to let them know what hoodlums they were raising. The airport called out and the kid answered.

The bike stopped again, fell in the grass where it had before, and the kid carefully walked up to the fence.

The sky was a perfect blue without even a hint of a cloud. July was in full swing. It was hot, even at mid-morning. The kid squinted. The sun was directly behind the big hangar, just clearing the roofline. The kid could barely see, but the sounds of the mechanics were familiar, both soothing and exciting at the same time.

“Hey, kid!” a voice boomed out. It was close. Startled, the kid squinted harder, peeking in between tightly closed fingers. “What’s your name?” the old man came into view, no more than three steps away. He was on the opposite side of the fence, but close. The kid shuddered but remained silent.

“Kid,” the old man repeated. “What’s your name?”

“Morgan,” the kid replied with knees and voice exhibiting equal unsteadiness.

“You come by here almost every day. Sometimes twice. Maybe more, I don’t know.”

“Uh huh,” said the kid, still shaken.

“You got family here?”

“No, sir.”

“Friends?”

“No, sir.”

The old man took a sip of coffee from his mug. They were so close the kid could smell it. He looked back over his shoulder at the hangar and the activity inside. The kid thought about taking the opportunity to run, but if caught that would only make things worse.

“You know how to use a broom?” the old man asked.

The kid looked back, confused.

“A broom,” the old man repeated himself. “Do you know how to use a broom?”

“Uh, yeah,” the kid said. “I guess so.”

“Wanna make $5?”

The kid’s mind locked up. This must be a trick question.

“My helper couldn’t come in today. Sick. I could use someone who can help wash planes and sweep up. Pays $5.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid beamed.

“C’mon, there’s a gate just over here. I’ll let you in.”

And so it begins…as it has for over 100 years, as it still can.

Be the old man, even if you’re not one. You’ll feel good about it.

I Just Love Airplane History

I just love reading history and, particularly, history of airplanes and airplane people. Turn me loose at the computer with a snowy day and a cup of coffee and I can be lost for hours.

Today's foray into the past began with yesterday's arrival of the last volumes needed to fill my collection of Joseph P. Juptner's "U.S. Civil Aircraft Series", a comprehensive nine-volume set of hardback books that lists all the airplanes granted a U.S. type certificate from when it all started to 1948, when the system was changed. It took Juptner 19 years to put it all together, and it stands as THE authoritative reference source for aviation historians.

As with most all my forays into the past, one search morphs into many searches and I find myself completely immersed in the history of all things aviation. For example, issues of Aviation and Aeronautical Engineering magazine published a broad array of articles having to do with aircraft design, in such depth that this theatre major's eyes glazed over after a short while ... but the subjects were interesting, nonetheless. Early dirigible theory, airfoils, variable camber wings, inflatable wings, powerplants, etc ... all interesting in their quaint sort of way. From the ads, there were a lot of companies that wanted in on the action. I'll throw out a few ads to whet your appetite (click on them to make them bigger) ...

The development of this new aviation technology is a lot like the technology revolution we see today ... many supporting technologies that make the original idea work and work better - in stages. Think both hardware and software in today's world; hardware and more hardware yesterday, but some of the ads are real eye-openers. Do a little digging of your own and look for yourself at the changes in how information was transferred - the faces of instruments, for example, to help pilots and mechanics make sense of the whole thing.

 Some of the ads get a little fanciful. Maybe the makers of Wright engines and Zenith carburetors saw this new aviation thing through the eyes of the grandmothers of the Village People.

One theme that everybody seemed to agree on was that for airplanes and aviating to take off, the public had to accept that it was more than a stunt, that it might someday be reliable.

There's nothing like a manly man with a tool of some kind in his hand to make us all feel better. 

This crate might get off the ground, after all.