Bob, if you'd like, I can have someone from EAA contact you. They can put you in contact with an instructor. Take a couple of flights and see if that satisfies it, or leads to a private pilot's license. You too, can fly.
Tales from the Log of the Ruptured Duck
- Thread starter Kayak Jack
- Start date
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Flying The Maple River Valley
Yesterday, I heard the alarm at 06:00 - a TERRIBLE time for a retiree. But, early morning air is clearer and smoother than it is later on, so, up I sprang! (Well, I did roll out, even if I didn't spring.)
In Mason, I picked up Kelli Green, a sprightly gal in her early 40's. We were still blinky eyed, but off to the field. When we got there, a hot air balloon was just completing inflation and was about ready to lift off. We didn't stick around to watch, because we had some flying of our own to do. Pre-flight inspection of the plane, weather briefing to confirm what I was watching outside the hangar door, passenger briefing so she would know what to do and how to do it in case of a forced landing, engine start, taxi, refuel (the only time you have too much fuel is if you're on fire), restart, ignition check, and off we go.
About 35-40 miles N'ly of Mason Jewett Field (KTEW), the Maple River spreads out from a 1/2 mile to one mile wide. It flows SW'ly, and is a wide, swampy terrain, filled with still water and lots of weeds. The narrow main channel is evident as a brown, muddy stream from recent rain. The surrounding swampy yuck is appears dark black, probably reflected light. This is a lazy river, not a busy one. It is said that "still waters run deep" - don't you believe it. Fact is, still water dumps sludge. Fast waters carve canyons and hand off their sludge to still waters.
We were in CAVU conditions - Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited. We could see 20-25 miles all around. We kept a close watch for sand hill cranes and herons aloft. Water fowl are all over this river like white on rice. Fortunately, none were up there as we drifted along about 2,000' above ground level. Some folks think it's smart to buzz low; we sometimes go to memorial services for them. One of the truisms of flying is that "altitude above you and runway behind you aren't any good."
Farms, schools, waste water disposal ponds, sod air strips, chicken/turkey farms, bridges, tractors, trucks, and all sorts of small, Midwest-type town and farm scenery slid past. Air traffic Control (ATC) was busy guiding planes on their way. We had requested Flight Following, so they had us on their radar too. Had another plane had a flight path to approach us, we would have been warned. Still, you keep eyes out there to see and avoid. The difference between a pilot and an air traffic controller is, if a pilot makes a mistake he may die. If an air traffic controller makes a mistake the pilot may die. So, we keep our eyes moving on the horizon +- 20 degrees.
In about 20 minutes of river time, we reached the junction of the Maple River with the Grand River near the little burg of Muir. Here, we climbed back up to 3,500, turned left, and proceeded back home to Mason. Strangely enough, we made a smooth landing. The Duck behaved and was well mannered; she didn't embarrass me at all by tossing her head about, screeching up on only one wheel, or other naughty things she's done from time to time since I've been at her wheel. (Previous owners have denied that she ever misbehaved for them, so she must be rebelling just for me, I guess. :wink: )
After we put the Duck to bed, I had a leisurely coupla cups of coffee with friends, a bit of lunch, and went on about my daily business.
Yesterday, I heard the alarm at 06:00 - a TERRIBLE time for a retiree. But, early morning air is clearer and smoother than it is later on, so, up I sprang! (Well, I did roll out, even if I didn't spring.)
In Mason, I picked up Kelli Green, a sprightly gal in her early 40's. We were still blinky eyed, but off to the field. When we got there, a hot air balloon was just completing inflation and was about ready to lift off. We didn't stick around to watch, because we had some flying of our own to do. Pre-flight inspection of the plane, weather briefing to confirm what I was watching outside the hangar door, passenger briefing so she would know what to do and how to do it in case of a forced landing, engine start, taxi, refuel (the only time you have too much fuel is if you're on fire), restart, ignition check, and off we go.
About 35-40 miles N'ly of Mason Jewett Field (KTEW), the Maple River spreads out from a 1/2 mile to one mile wide. It flows SW'ly, and is a wide, swampy terrain, filled with still water and lots of weeds. The narrow main channel is evident as a brown, muddy stream from recent rain. The surrounding swampy yuck is appears dark black, probably reflected light. This is a lazy river, not a busy one. It is said that "still waters run deep" - don't you believe it. Fact is, still water dumps sludge. Fast waters carve canyons and hand off their sludge to still waters.
We were in CAVU conditions - Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited. We could see 20-25 miles all around. We kept a close watch for sand hill cranes and herons aloft. Water fowl are all over this river like white on rice. Fortunately, none were up there as we drifted along about 2,000' above ground level. Some folks think it's smart to buzz low; we sometimes go to memorial services for them. One of the truisms of flying is that "altitude above you and runway behind you aren't any good."
Farms, schools, waste water disposal ponds, sod air strips, chicken/turkey farms, bridges, tractors, trucks, and all sorts of small, Midwest-type town and farm scenery slid past. Air traffic Control (ATC) was busy guiding planes on their way. We had requested Flight Following, so they had us on their radar too. Had another plane had a flight path to approach us, we would have been warned. Still, you keep eyes out there to see and avoid. The difference between a pilot and an air traffic controller is, if a pilot makes a mistake he may die. If an air traffic controller makes a mistake the pilot may die. So, we keep our eyes moving on the horizon +- 20 degrees.
In about 20 minutes of river time, we reached the junction of the Maple River with the Grand River near the little burg of Muir. Here, we climbed back up to 3,500, turned left, and proceeded back home to Mason. Strangely enough, we made a smooth landing. The Duck behaved and was well mannered; she didn't embarrass me at all by tossing her head about, screeching up on only one wheel, or other naughty things she's done from time to time since I've been at her wheel. (Previous owners have denied that she ever misbehaved for them, so she must be rebelling just for me, I guess. :wink: )
After we put the Duck to bed, I had a leisurely coupla cups of coffee with friends, a bit of lunch, and went on about my daily business.
Even though I seldom comment on this thread, I also enjoy reading it.
Mike S. <----- The "other Mike"
Spring Hill, FL
Mike S. <----- The "other Mike"
Spring Hill, FL
Breakfast in Napolean 3NP
Steve, my flight instructor, and I took a short flight (about 25 minutes) to a sod field this morning. I was up before six o'clock! Air was smooth and nice. Raspberry pie was good. Humidity was hazy and a bit murky, but I could still manage 13 miles visibility.
One of the joys of a simple airplane, is a simple flight. Bopping a few miles south for breakfast seems a rational - even logical - thing to do. Not a helluva lot more than agreeing to meet a buddy at McDonald's or Big Boy for breakfast.
Steve was observing my flying and critiqued me afterwards. I'm not as bad as I used to be. A couple of little mistakes, and one judgement call that worked out OK his way, and may have been OK my way. But - maybe not. And, since we were deciding about clearing trees at the end of the runway, I took his suggestion.
A couple of buddies joined Steve and me back at the hangar - one of them in his '42 Jeep with .30 Cal & ammo belt mounted on it. (I didn't say we were all OK, but one or two of us are. Usually.) A few cups of coffee, lots of stories , and a couple of sandwiches later - I headed home. The Ruptured Duck and I cheated death again.
Steve, my flight instructor, and I took a short flight (about 25 minutes) to a sod field this morning. I was up before six o'clock! Air was smooth and nice. Raspberry pie was good. Humidity was hazy and a bit murky, but I could still manage 13 miles visibility.
One of the joys of a simple airplane, is a simple flight. Bopping a few miles south for breakfast seems a rational - even logical - thing to do. Not a helluva lot more than agreeing to meet a buddy at McDonald's or Big Boy for breakfast.
Steve was observing my flying and critiqued me afterwards. I'm not as bad as I used to be. A couple of little mistakes, and one judgement call that worked out OK his way, and may have been OK my way. But - maybe not. And, since we were deciding about clearing trees at the end of the runway, I took his suggestion.
A couple of buddies joined Steve and me back at the hangar - one of them in his '42 Jeep with .30 Cal & ammo belt mounted on it. (I didn't say we were all OK, but one or two of us are. Usually.) A few cups of coffee, lots of stories , and a couple of sandwiches later - I headed home. The Ruptured Duck and I cheated death again.
Jack,
Was the .30 cal. operational W/live ammo? Fun to be had. But none of those things work anymore. :wink: so sad.
Bob
Was the .30 cal. operational W/live ammo? Fun to be had. But none of those things work anymore. :wink: so sad.
Bob
No, the Browning .30 cal was a dummy, ammo inert, and the Springfield rifle was a dummy too. The Browning would be just too much temptation in traffic to resist!
A Round Robin to ALLEGAN
Bright and clear, scattered at 6,000', winds at 3,000' from 330 degrees at 6 knots. Visibility more than 10 miles.
Greg and I were airborne before 08:00, flying due west to Allegan's Padgham Field at 3,500'. Air pressure was so varied across southwestern Michigan that, at one point, we "gained" 300' altitude just resetting the altimeter.
Actually, winds were not as advertised at all. Winds aloft were 60 degrees E'ly of what was briefed, and about 180 degrees different on the ground. A large low traveling E'ly in northern Indiana & Ohio has weather changing fast.
Michigan has bands of lakes, many of them stretch south from Grand Rapids, down past Kalamazoo. We'd get a few bumps from them, but usually just little ones. Larger lakes are good landmarks, distinctive in shape and visible for 20 miles off. Some other state brags of having 10,000 lakes; we have over 11,000. Only problem is, a lot of them have the same names - Long Lake, Round Lake, Mud Lake, Bass Lake, etc.
We flew 1.7 hours, going to and coming from. About half the wheat has been combined so far. Hay bales populate some fields like a docile herd of fat cows. We even hit a bug that had made the mistake of flying 2,500' above ground level. What the HECK was he doing up there??!!
Back to Mason Jewett Field and put the Ruptured Duck to bed. She's a grand, old lady and serves me well. Lift one in her honor tonight, guys?
Bright and clear, scattered at 6,000', winds at 3,000' from 330 degrees at 6 knots. Visibility more than 10 miles.
Greg and I were airborne before 08:00, flying due west to Allegan's Padgham Field at 3,500'. Air pressure was so varied across southwestern Michigan that, at one point, we "gained" 300' altitude just resetting the altimeter.
Actually, winds were not as advertised at all. Winds aloft were 60 degrees E'ly of what was briefed, and about 180 degrees different on the ground. A large low traveling E'ly in northern Indiana & Ohio has weather changing fast.
Michigan has bands of lakes, many of them stretch south from Grand Rapids, down past Kalamazoo. We'd get a few bumps from them, but usually just little ones. Larger lakes are good landmarks, distinctive in shape and visible for 20 miles off. Some other state brags of having 10,000 lakes; we have over 11,000. Only problem is, a lot of them have the same names - Long Lake, Round Lake, Mud Lake, Bass Lake, etc.
We flew 1.7 hours, going to and coming from. About half the wheat has been combined so far. Hay bales populate some fields like a docile herd of fat cows. We even hit a bug that had made the mistake of flying 2,500' above ground level. What the HECK was he doing up there??!!
Back to Mason Jewett Field and put the Ruptured Duck to bed. She's a grand, old lady and serves me well. Lift one in her honor tonight, guys?
Mason to Grand Haven & Holland
Today, Jack Hamilton and I flew out for breakfast. First leg of our jaunt was just a 15 minute flight from Mason to Charlotte, a few miles W'ly. We borrowed the courtesy car and drove to "The Eaton Place" to eat. Charlotte is the county seat of Eaton County, and the restaurant uses that play on words of the county name. They have really good food, even with the slightly corny name.
Then we refueled, and took off for Grand Haven. This is the town where Michigan's Grand River (largest river in the state) empties into Lake Michigan. The downwind leg of the pattern was over ox bows and sand bars in the river delta covering the last, few miles of the river's flow before it becomes part of Lake Michigan. Uneven heating of land and water gave us a few bumps in the pattern. We flew on the coast in the base leg in the traffic pattern.
Look at the back of your left hand. About halfway up from your wrist, in line with the bottom knuckle of your middle finger is Lansing. Draw a line from there to the bottom knuckle of your little finger. That's pretty much our line of flight.
After landing there, (pretty smoothly, I might add), we looked for the pilot's lounge with restroom, coffee pot, and pilot's log. No coffee pot, so we went looking further. No coffee pot had been fired up this morning, so we went without. A manager-type drove up on his riding mower, and we gabbed for half an hour. This field doesn't have the activity it did a few years ago. Pilots are aging, and no young bucks are moving in to replace them.
We took off and flew south along the coast a few miles to Holland Michigan. Large groups of Dutch people live in the western part of our lower peninsula, ("If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much!" they're fond of saying), and Holland has its tulip festival every spring. Our high school band marched it it a couple of times when I was in school. I saw rocky Marciano (world heavy weight boxing champ in early 50's) there one time. His biceps were bigger than my thigh.
Visibility was at least 30 miles today, and we could see all along the coast, stretching out southerly in front of us. At Holland, we turned E'ly and flew along, south of Grand Rapids, and back to Mason. Most wheat fields have been combined, and straw is being baled. Second cutting of hay is done in a few places. Corn is shoulder high, and soy beans are knee high. Lakes scatter about the land like salt and pepper on mashed potatoes. We each shared memories of times on some of them. Fish still grow faster after they've been caught.
Jack flies for an air line, and had flown in the Air Force. His 7,000 plus hours of skill show in how nicely the Ruptured Duck behaves for him. She embarrassed me a bit by not holding altitude nearly as well as she did for him. I had to talk to her after we returned to the hangar.
Today, Jack Hamilton and I flew out for breakfast. First leg of our jaunt was just a 15 minute flight from Mason to Charlotte, a few miles W'ly. We borrowed the courtesy car and drove to "The Eaton Place" to eat. Charlotte is the county seat of Eaton County, and the restaurant uses that play on words of the county name. They have really good food, even with the slightly corny name.
Then we refueled, and took off for Grand Haven. This is the town where Michigan's Grand River (largest river in the state) empties into Lake Michigan. The downwind leg of the pattern was over ox bows and sand bars in the river delta covering the last, few miles of the river's flow before it becomes part of Lake Michigan. Uneven heating of land and water gave us a few bumps in the pattern. We flew on the coast in the base leg in the traffic pattern.
Look at the back of your left hand. About halfway up from your wrist, in line with the bottom knuckle of your middle finger is Lansing. Draw a line from there to the bottom knuckle of your little finger. That's pretty much our line of flight.
After landing there, (pretty smoothly, I might add), we looked for the pilot's lounge with restroom, coffee pot, and pilot's log. No coffee pot, so we went looking further. No coffee pot had been fired up this morning, so we went without. A manager-type drove up on his riding mower, and we gabbed for half an hour. This field doesn't have the activity it did a few years ago. Pilots are aging, and no young bucks are moving in to replace them.
We took off and flew south along the coast a few miles to Holland Michigan. Large groups of Dutch people live in the western part of our lower peninsula, ("If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much!" they're fond of saying), and Holland has its tulip festival every spring. Our high school band marched it it a couple of times when I was in school. I saw rocky Marciano (world heavy weight boxing champ in early 50's) there one time. His biceps were bigger than my thigh.
Visibility was at least 30 miles today, and we could see all along the coast, stretching out southerly in front of us. At Holland, we turned E'ly and flew along, south of Grand Rapids, and back to Mason. Most wheat fields have been combined, and straw is being baled. Second cutting of hay is done in a few places. Corn is shoulder high, and soy beans are knee high. Lakes scatter about the land like salt and pepper on mashed potatoes. We each shared memories of times on some of them. Fish still grow faster after they've been caught.
Jack flies for an air line, and had flown in the Air Force. His 7,000 plus hours of skill show in how nicely the Ruptured Duck behaves for him. She embarrassed me a bit by not holding altitude nearly as well as she did for him. I had to talk to her after we returned to the hangar.
And the sandhill cranes go walking . . . walking, walking. The sandhill cranes go walking.
Weather was calm and CAVU tonight (Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited). I took the Duck up. As I was taxiing out, my friend was taking off in his North American Texan T-6.
On take off, I noticed 2 adult sandhills eating right next to the runway, about 300' down. They politely stayed put. Two landings later, their dinner table manners left them - and they walked across the runway right in front of me. I had two choices, neither one good. Firewall the throttle and try to over fly them, or continue my (now bouncy) landing and hope the extra second or two was enough.
Trying to hop over them would be more dangerous than hitting them. I continued to land, full 40 degree flaps were slowing me down, and holding nearly the full weight of the aircraft. There wasn't enough weight on my wheels to use brakes, aerodynamic braking would just have to do.
Fortunately, they hustled a bit and I swept on past them. I think that, as I went by, I saw one pause and raise a wing tip at me. Most, not quite all, of his wing tip feathers were folded down.
Weather was calm and CAVU tonight (Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited). I took the Duck up. As I was taxiing out, my friend was taking off in his North American Texan T-6.
On take off, I noticed 2 adult sandhills eating right next to the runway, about 300' down. They politely stayed put. Two landings later, their dinner table manners left them - and they walked across the runway right in front of me. I had two choices, neither one good. Firewall the throttle and try to over fly them, or continue my (now bouncy) landing and hope the extra second or two was enough.
Trying to hop over them would be more dangerous than hitting them. I continued to land, full 40 degree flaps were slowing me down, and holding nearly the full weight of the aircraft. There wasn't enough weight on my wheels to use brakes, aerodynamic braking would just have to do.
Fortunately, they hustled a bit and I swept on past them. I think that, as I went by, I saw one pause and raise a wing tip at me. Most, not quite all, of his wing tip feathers were folded down.
I'm betting that there was just one feather pointing up, instead of down like the rest. Sandhills can develop a bit of attitude. Nice job avoiding shredding the poor buggers, though. I kind of like them.
Funny you should mention the AT-6. Hanging on the wall, right behind my computer screen, is a set of plans for a Back Yard Flyer AT-6 Texan, by Nick Ziroli.
Back when I was building and flying RC electric foamies, I'd planned on doing a foam version of the Texan. Never got around to it, but the plan is still on the wall. Still look at it from time to time, thinking "One of these days. . . "
Mike S.
Spring Hill, FL
Funny you should mention the AT-6. Hanging on the wall, right behind my computer screen, is a set of plans for a Back Yard Flyer AT-6 Texan, by Nick Ziroli.
Back when I was building and flying RC electric foamies, I'd planned on doing a foam version of the Texan. Never got around to it, but the plan is still on the wall. Still look at it from time to time, thinking "One of these days. . . "
Mike S.
Spring Hill, FL
Last summer, Dan wedged me in the back seat and we flew N'ly about 50 miles for dinner in the hangar. I ate with a fellow named Gustafson, who flies his T-6 in air shows.
On the way back, we flew along with Dan's cousins - crop dusters. DAMN! I like more than 20-50 feet of air between me and the ground when we whiz by. I'm a bit of a wuss, I guess.
On the way back, we flew along with Dan's cousins - crop dusters. DAMN! I like more than 20-50 feet of air between me and the ground when we whiz by. I'm a bit of a wuss, I guess.
hey Jack,
Crop dusters are a bit different. when I was in high school during rice season I would word for Ag. servies on weekends during the school year and when school was out it was from before dark to after dark. Show up for work before sunrise and prep the planes. Go get five gal of oil and pour into the oil tank behind the cockpit on a Stearman then stick the tank to see how much more oil it needed. Those R-985's like to drink the oil. After preflighting the plane one of us would get in the cockpit and the other would get on the prop, grab the left hand blade ( they had a 9 ft Hamaltion Standard prop) and hand start the engine and let it warm up. When the pilot showed up he would look things over and go from there. We did on occasion (usually a weekend) have to help a drunk pilot out of his car and into the plane, strap him in and tell him what time to take off and what field we would be doing first. Could get a bit interesting. $1.25 an hour. I was in the Big Bucks. You can kill a lot of snakes in and around rice fields.
Sorry get off on a tangent Jack. I've always admired the AT-6
Bob
Crop dusters are a bit different. when I was in high school during rice season I would word for Ag. servies on weekends during the school year and when school was out it was from before dark to after dark. Show up for work before sunrise and prep the planes. Go get five gal of oil and pour into the oil tank behind the cockpit on a Stearman then stick the tank to see how much more oil it needed. Those R-985's like to drink the oil. After preflighting the plane one of us would get in the cockpit and the other would get on the prop, grab the left hand blade ( they had a 9 ft Hamaltion Standard prop) and hand start the engine and let it warm up. When the pilot showed up he would look things over and go from there. We did on occasion (usually a weekend) have to help a drunk pilot out of his car and into the plane, strap him in and tell him what time to take off and what field we would be doing first. Could get a bit interesting. $1.25 an hour. I was in the Big Bucks. You can kill a lot of snakes in and around rice fields.
Sorry get off on a tangent Jack. I've always admired the AT-6
Bob
Baron - The Wonder Horse (in a dog's skin)
Yesterday we had stable air around here, very few bumps. I had thought about flying over a familiar canoe route, but couldn't scrounge up another pilot to go along. When I fly over a good canoe route, I get to gawking - and not paying attention to flying. Not smart, so I prefer to have another pilot along so one can fly and one can gawk.
"Your plane!" "Rog, my plane, I've got it." HINT: If you don't get back that positive confirmation that someone else has control, it's not a good idea to quit flying quite yet.
So, I soloed to Marshall. It's one of my favorite places to go. John Riske (yes, pronounced like risky) runs the field there. The last few months, he's been flying cargo pretty steady, and I haven't seen him for a while. Yesterday, about half way through my first cup of coffee, he came strolling in, saw me, and says, "I THOUGHT I saw the Ruptured Duck out there on my ramp!" Baron - the 100 pound wonder horse - jumped up all over me, his tail swept the coffee cup off the table, and I got a heck of a greeting from him.
Another surprise was Jack, John's brand new, 4 month old Son. What a bundle of smiles. He's a happy little guy. What with John for a Daddy, and Baron for a buddy - WTH more could a little boy want? Little Jack had already had his breakfast, and it was spitting up a little bubble at a time once in a while. Whoops! I'll get some paper towels. John is totally at ease with a spitty-up baby, the wonder horse, and various pilots wandering through.
Another dog strolled in too, accompanied by his Grandpa who flew the plane, and his Daddy and Daddy's girlfriend. They were on their way to Win Schuler's restaurant in town. One quick call and a car was on the way to pick them up.
The table in the pilot's lounge still had packaged up remains of a breakfast on it. The night before, they'd had a hangar movie - "Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines". Starting about dusk (9:00 pm with a few tarps blocking the W'ly windows) with popcorn, families, etc. A real community affair.
After an hour and a half of catching up, I took off and headed back to Mason for a late lunch. Some wheat fields still have those big, round "buffaloes" in (bales of straw). Also out, were some horses gamboling around a pasture, and a red tailed hawk who sailed directly under me.
Air traffic controllers had vectored me around two other planes - one on the way down, and one on the way back. When I turned on my landing light, the other pilot called out, "I have a visual on the traffic. No factor." I never did spot him.
Squeak squeak, back home. Cheated Death again.
Yesterday we had stable air around here, very few bumps. I had thought about flying over a familiar canoe route, but couldn't scrounge up another pilot to go along. When I fly over a good canoe route, I get to gawking - and not paying attention to flying. Not smart, so I prefer to have another pilot along so one can fly and one can gawk.
"Your plane!" "Rog, my plane, I've got it." HINT: If you don't get back that positive confirmation that someone else has control, it's not a good idea to quit flying quite yet.
So, I soloed to Marshall. It's one of my favorite places to go. John Riske (yes, pronounced like risky) runs the field there. The last few months, he's been flying cargo pretty steady, and I haven't seen him for a while. Yesterday, about half way through my first cup of coffee, he came strolling in, saw me, and says, "I THOUGHT I saw the Ruptured Duck out there on my ramp!" Baron - the 100 pound wonder horse - jumped up all over me, his tail swept the coffee cup off the table, and I got a heck of a greeting from him.
Another surprise was Jack, John's brand new, 4 month old Son. What a bundle of smiles. He's a happy little guy. What with John for a Daddy, and Baron for a buddy - WTH more could a little boy want? Little Jack had already had his breakfast, and it was spitting up a little bubble at a time once in a while. Whoops! I'll get some paper towels. John is totally at ease with a spitty-up baby, the wonder horse, and various pilots wandering through.
Another dog strolled in too, accompanied by his Grandpa who flew the plane, and his Daddy and Daddy's girlfriend. They were on their way to Win Schuler's restaurant in town. One quick call and a car was on the way to pick them up.
The table in the pilot's lounge still had packaged up remains of a breakfast on it. The night before, they'd had a hangar movie - "Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines". Starting about dusk (9:00 pm with a few tarps blocking the W'ly windows) with popcorn, families, etc. A real community affair.
After an hour and a half of catching up, I took off and headed back to Mason for a late lunch. Some wheat fields still have those big, round "buffaloes" in (bales of straw). Also out, were some horses gamboling around a pasture, and a red tailed hawk who sailed directly under me.
Air traffic controllers had vectored me around two other planes - one on the way down, and one on the way back. When I turned on my landing light, the other pilot called out, "I have a visual on the traffic. No factor." I never did spot him.
Squeak squeak, back home. Cheated Death again.