Boogied out of Niagara Falls International airport before 10am because the weather forecast was calling for rainshowers and possible thunderstorms, and we wanted to beat the front that was moving in.
Flew directly north to Lake Ontario, then followed the lake shore all the way to the eastern end, where it becomes the St. Lawrence River Seaway. It took about two hours flying time to traverse the entire length of the lake, following every twist and turn of the shoreline. Again today the weather was excellent, with temperatures in the 70's, calm wind, no turbulence, but the visibility was still poor. At one point we climbed a couple of hundred feet above the surface of the water to get over a local fog bank which gently wrapped around a small village on the shore. It was very picturesque to look straight down through the puffs of fog into the town below and imagine what it was like to be there. At the same time, I could imagine that there was at least one person in that town that could hear our engines above the fog, and looking up through the breaks in the clouds, could see our biplanes slipping by, and they would try to imagine what it was like to be up there.
The air was so still that you could trim the plane so perfectly that it would fly without touching the controls. This is one of those very rare times that we could almost completely relax in the air, knowing that there would be no towers to bite us, no traffic, no turbulence, no Air Traffic Controllers.... nothing to detract from the pure essence of flying effortlessly above it all like a bird. For just a few moments at a time I could allow my mind to relax, and then it would be time to scan the horizon for traffic, scan the instruments, recheck my position on the chart, look for local airports and monitor traffic on their radio frequency, and generally come back to reality. It seems that there is always something to do in the cockpit, and usually there is more to do than you have time for right now.
An example of this is the navigation charts. Today's trip, while only a few hundred miles in this leg, covered parts of 3 different charts. Each chart is like a highway map, and you are folding and refolding and flipping over and putting away and opening new charts all the time. Only about 10 miles of the course is visible on each flip or fold of the chart. To make the scene totally rediculous, imagine dealing with a roadmap at 125 mph, while driving alone in a convertible with the top down, because that's exactly what it's like, only there is no way you can just pull over to the side of the road (sky) and ask directions, or get your bearings, and there is not much time at all to be looking at the charts in the first place because unlike driving on a highway where traffic can only come at you in two dimensions, and in usually only 4 directions, while you are flying the traffic can come at you in three dimensions, and in an infinite number of directions, and they are flying at least as fast, and sometimes a lot faster. It gets really busy up there sometimes. I remember one time that I got so screwed up with my chart while trying to refold it, stow it, and go to the next chart, that I just wadded it up in a big ball and stuffed it under the seat. This is not generally accepted professional behaviour of course, but it is preferable to just letting it fly out the open cockpit an alternative I seriously considered until I thought that it might be needed if I had to turn around!.
We landed at Watertown, NY for fuel and had a great lunch at the Fairgrounds Inn just a couple of miles down the road from the airport. The airport manager let us use her van for free. People are very nice to biplane pilots. We provide a needed service in the world today. We inspire belief that such things really are possible, that retirement can be fun, that the Golden Age of Aviation is still with us, if we want it to be, that life is good, and all is right with the world. This is our job, and I take it very seriously. Somebody's got to do it.
Back in the cockpit for a short hop up the St. Lawrence to a private field called Maxson, only twenty miles northeast, at the edge of the town of Alexandria Bay, in a region known as Thousand Islands. This is in fact where Thousand Island dressing was invented, and the area does in fact have at least one thousand islands scattered throughout the middle of the river. Many of them have great, and not so great, homes on them. The place is a wonderland for boaters and vacationers. You can buy your own private island here for not much more than an average home in California, the only problem is that you have to deal with some of the worst winters in the USA.
We were greeted at the airport by a young fellow named Steve who just gurgled with glee at seeing such fine airplanes, and even pleaded to sit in my cockpit. Turns out that he is the owner of the airport. Good to see that he still has enthusiasm for aviation. For many airport owners or managers, it is just a job. We also happened to meet Sean, the owner of the Riveredge Hotel, and he and Steve drove us and our bags into town, and Sean fixed us up with great rooms with Jacuzzi, for a preferred rate. These people know how to treat biplane pilots. Sean's hotel is a first class operation, it even has Guinness Stout on tap! And a Five Star restaurant. The hotel is, as advertised, right on the river's edge, and we can watch the huge ore-carrying ships glide by at close range.
We are very close to Montreal, but we won't go into Canada. We are about as far north as we will get on this trip. From here we go east, crossing the Adirondack mountains of New York, then into Vermont. But that's just tonight's guess. Tomorrow morning we will unfold a chart (or two) on the lower wing of the plane, we will sniff the air, test the direction of the wind, talk to the locals about interesting places to fly, calculate possible fuel stops, and haggle among ourselves until somehow we come to a decision, and even that could change when we get in the air. Such is the very unscientific process for getting where we are going. The Indians have a saying: "If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there."
Thanks for flying along.