Michael McCafferty - USA Biplane Tour
Day Twenty One - June 16, 1996Let there be Grass!
Woke up early to a natural phenomenon that we hadn't witnessed for about two weeks. Early morning sunshine! I thought I had overslept, and it was mid-day, but a glance at my watch confirmed we had a genuine miracle happening. Turned on The Weather Channel and the local forecast was for (I kid you not) "an abundance of sunshine". I rang Art and his Uncle Les, to wake them for an early departure.
At the St. Claire airport, we filed our first Flight Plan of the trip. A recommended procedure when flying non-stop over Canadian airspace. Today's trip was a short hop south to Lake Erie, and then east along the entire northern shore of the lake to the far eastern end, then back north to the North Buffalo airport for refueling. Flying Lake Erie was a ball. Even more fun than flying Lake Huron was yesterday. The air was just the same as yesterday, calm with visibility poor (only about 3 miles). We stayed very low and hugged the shoreline all the way. The farms of Canada were very neat and clean, and we enjoyed some of the finest scenery of the trip.
At North Buffalo airport, we dropped in over telephone wires and a building at the approach end of the runway. This is always a high "pucker factor" with obstacles at the fast end. I went first, and since there was no taxiway, I had to back-taxi on the runway to get to the fuel pumps, so Art had to go-around and come in again. He got the double-pucker factor, because at the departure end of the runway there are trees. He always has more fun!
It was here we met a fellow pilot who inspected our planes with admiration and suggested we might want to try out a grass field just a few miles south, where he keeps his plane. Clarence Aerodrome it's called. A private grass strip for about a dozen taildragger pilots who prefer their landings on grass. This is the opportunity I have been waiting for. We have passed over dozens of grass fields on this trip so far, and on each of them I have severely wanted to land. However the torrential rains of the past several weeks have soaked the fields in the Midwest so badly that these fields have dangerous pools of water, or are so waterlogged that it is not advisable to test them. Today we met someone with first hand knowledge of the conditions at a pristine private grass field, and he invited us to come play on it.
We were fueled and out of North Buffalo in a flash, and within a minute after our left turnout we had Clarence Aerodrome in sight. The frequency on the chart said 122.70, but our host told us that nobody ever uses the radio at this field, you just gotta keep your eyes open. Sounds like real taildragger pilots down there. Art was in the lead and put it down pretty as a picture, rolling out to the gaggle of planes at the departure end of the field.
Now it's my turn. The last time I put down on a grass field was in October, at the Polo Field in Del Mar. Way too long ago to suit me. These planes were made specifically for grass fields. They LOVE grass fields. When you land a Waco biplane on asphalt, it is really a desecration, a crime, hypocrisy of a higher order..... you get the idea. When you land on asphalt (or concrete), the wheels go "chirp" when you touch down, and no matter how nice a landing you make, you know that you are causing some discomfort to the plane. On grass, the plane goes "woof", and the entire plane seems to smile that contented smile you get when you come home after being away too long.
So anyway, here I am squirming in my seat, flying downwind, throttling back, turning base, then final, losing altitude nicely, all the time thinking to myself that there are some REAL pilots down there, watching me real close, and I am about to do a very beautiful thing for them, and for myself, and for my Waco, I hope. I'm kinda like a nervous lover, I know it's going to be good, I hope, and I want to get started real soon, and I hope it's not over too quick, please, and I hope I don't embarrass myself too badly, please. The only difference is that in this instance, I have the whole airport watching. But I can't think of that right now because the Waco is falling out of the sky like a greased safe, and I have to guide it to a smooth landing, so I'm too busy to think of the ten thousand ways that a person can screw up a landing.
It's now "over the fence" time, when the runway disappears because the nose comes up, the speed diminishes from 85, to 80, to 75, the plane gets lower, the nose gets higher and the only thing you can see is out the sides of your eyes. You can see grass for the runway, and beyond that is the slightly darker grass that is not runway. Every once in a while a runway marker/light flashes past, and hopefully they are equidistant on both sides of the plane. The plane slows to 70, then 65, and the nose comes up even higher, and now we are in a perfect three-point attitude, and the wheels are only about two inches above the grass. It is now that you can almost feel the tires being tickled by the longer blades of grass. The plane wants to fly, but it also aches to touch down. The grass is too much of a temptation and as the plane slows to 59 it drops the last quarter of an inch out of the sky and settles down on the smooth grass with a sound that can only be called a sigh. "Thank you , Michael, that was very nice" says the Waco. "It was my pleasure" I say to the Waco, "Thank You!".
It is for times like this that man invented the swagger. First developed by biplane pilots, and later perfected by John Wayne, the swagger is a way of walking away from the scene of a heroic deed and toward the appreciative audience with an air of supreme self-confidence such that the audience can only imagine that you are a god, and they have no idea that, on the inside, you just can't believe that you pulled of such an incredible stunt.
So I swagger up to the waiting pilots, exchange handshakes all around, and we all settle down into the time-honored tradition of "hangar-flying" (a polite term for telling lies about our various flying escapades). But I'm not really listening that much, and neither is Art, because our work here is only half done. We have a serious need to take off on grass, so we jump back into the cockpits of our Wacos and back-taxi to the end of the runway. Art has already taken off but I can't think of anything but me right now. I hold the brakes down solid and give it full throttle, building up as much power as possible, then pop the brakes and rumble down the runway until the Waco just can't stand it anymore. Yes, it loves grass more than just about anything in the world, but to FLY is the essence of life, so it lifts off ever so reluctantly, then more quickly, and then climbs like an angel.
I climb out to a left downwind, and come around again for the traditional low pass for our new friends on the ground. At 1000 feet above the ground, I cut the power and make a left diving turn for the approach end of the runway, switch on the Pulse lights for extra special effects, and descend to only about 5 feet over the runway, applying full power while passing in review for the entire length of the field, and then a very quick pull-up at the other end of the field, partly for the purpose of inspiring the audience, but mostly for the purpose of avoiding the telephone poles, wires, trees and house. Good-bye grass field. Thanks for being there!
Onward to Niagara Falls International airport. Big airport, small town. We just have to see the Falls. The oldest state park in the nation. Scene of untold millions of honeymoons. But don't waste your time. See it on video. This place is one of the honkey-est of the honkey-tonk towns in America. Only the Falls doesn't seem to care. This great vertical body of water is truly majestic, it is just the town that's shabby. We see an exhibit commemorating people who went over the Falls in a barrel, and one of the few survivors is reported to have said: "I did it for the fun of it, but I won't do it again for any reason". I love that comment.
Tomorrow we fly the last of the Great Lakes in our path, Lake Ontario, on our way north to Maine. Our pit-stop for our first leg is a place called Thousand Islands, a tourist attraction some people at various airports have turned us on to. It's at the far northeast end of Lake Ontario.
Who knows what great adventure will be next!