by Dean Zakos
© Copyright 2024. All rights reserved!
Published in Midwest Flyer Magazine February/March 2024 Digital Issue
Where did the time go? I remember clearly my first flight as a student, as it seems it was not that long ago. But any calendar will certainly demonstrate that it was. A recent flight, once again, reminded me of the pure joy and simple satisfaction that aviation brings to those willing to venture aloft.
My friend Pete called me on short notice to inquire if I wanted to join him on a fuel run from Middleton – Morey Field (C29) to Sauk/Prairie Airport (91C), Wisconsin on a weekday afternoon in October. Without hesitation, I said “Yes.”
As aviators, even if we lack a particularly alluring destination or practical mission to fly from Point A to Point B, we should still seize the opportunities to make the more mundane, but no less beneficial, “fuel runs,” “engine preservation flights,” and “pilot proficiency flights” as often as we are able.
Pete, a CFI, owns and pilots a Zenith STOL CH 801, a 180 horsepower Lycoming-powered, four-seat, kit-built aircraft. Made from sheet aluminum, it employs a deep wing cord, full-length leading-edge slats, and trailing edge flaperons. It is painted red over yellow with a “checkerboard square” design on the tail. He asked me to bring a jacket, although when I arrived at the airport there was bright sunshine, a few large clouds scattered here and there shading areas on the ground, and mild temperatures. Upon seeing the airplane, I understood his request, as the doors had been removed and this flight, albeit a bit breezy, would offer good views of the Wisconsin autumn landscape unimpeded by a door or window.
The Zenith is a fun airplane to fly, with a shareable “Y” control stick centered between the front seats, nimble responses in each axis, good visibility all the way around, and short takeoff and landing capabilities. As I buckled in, I noticed that the only barrier between me and the open air was a sheet metal edge rising next to my seat no more than a few inches above the floor. My right elbow extended into the slipstream. I made sure the seat belt and shoulder harness were both engaged and secure.
Our heading after takeoff was northwest. Once airborne, I was flying and holding a rough course by focusing on landmarks, such as a lake, a field, or a clearing on the horizon ahead of us. The Zenith sits slightly nose high in level flight, which is a bit disconcerting at first. The same sight picture in my airplane results in a climb. Power set. On course. Level altitude. Even with noise-cancelling headsets, we knew from the steady vibrations the engine was strong and running smoothly. There was some gentle buffeting, but Pete explained that the airplane did not fly much differently with the doors on or off.
Solid overcast, gray and rippled, started to move in. I didn’t notice at first. The absence of distinct areas of light and shadow on the landscape below should have been an early indication. We were losing some of our sunshine. Coming from the southwest, the line was sliding toward us, but well above our current altitude. With the darker cloud cover, it grew a little chilly. I was glad to have my jacket. I drew the zipper up to my neck. Now, I wished I had gloves as well.
There is something unique – and incomparable – about sitting in an airplane on a crisp October afternoon and enjoying another pilot’s company and the scenery spreading out below us. We didn’t talk much; we didn’t have to. Friendship and airplanes go together. There is a kinship among aviators, even with those we have never met, in the sky.
At that moment, suspended in space, very little, if any, of the outside world mattered to either of us. Our friendship, the airplane, the intended destination, were all that was important. Earthly troubles, nagging worries, and incessant challenges, some seemingly small, others large, in our daily home or work lives, do not exist up here.
In my view, whether you are a new student pilot or a retired ATP, we all share the same love for flying. Knowledge base, experience, and flight hours may be singular to each pilot’s logbook, but something within compelled each of us at some point in our lives to take that first step, to commit to that first airplane ride and, most importantly, to follow through with the necessary study, consistent training and practice, and dedication to reach the goal. That is what we share – with pilots today, with those who, having Gone West, took to the sky before us, and with those who will come after.
The Wisconsin River came into view on the horizon. The river is east of 91C, now a few miles off on our left, and we decided to follow its meandering path north past the airport. We traced the river’s banks about 2,000 feet above it. “Let’s follow the river a bit until we reach the Merrimac Ferry,” Pete suggested. It was a Thursday afternoon, about 2:00 pm. Not much activity on the river. Boats that were so plentiful in July, busy in the summer months with water skiing, sailing, and fishing, now sit tied up at the marinas and piers jutting into the water. In a few weeks, they will be in storage. A month after that, ice and snow will cover Lake Wisconsin. Pete points out a restaurant he visited last winter on the lake. He landed on the ice and taxied up for a warm bowl of chili.
When we reached the Merrimac Ferry crossing, we easily identified the rectangular-shaped boat from its wake on the river. It was about halfway across. “I’ll make the turn around the ferry,” I told Pete, using the slow-moving vessel as the center point for the turn. I completed about 230 degrees of the circle and rolled out on a southerly heading, following the river’s shoreline again back toward Sauk/Prairie. Later, I checked our CloudAhoy track, and my turn around the ferry was passable. Not a perfect sphere, yet close. Admittedly, not much wind to account for.
We set up for a midfield left downwind entry to Runway 18 at Sauk/Prairie. Pete made the radio calls. No traffic. The airport belonged to us. I flew base and down to short final, where Pete called “My airplane.” He managed a nicely stabilized approach and flair, and the runway centerline neatly split the Zenith’s fuselage and main gear. Pete’s mantra for landing the Zenith, repeated out loud for my benefit, is “Pitch . . . Pitch . . . Pitch.” As we touched down, I noticed how close I was to the asphalt pavement streaking by me. Even at a slow landing speed, you can get quite a sensation of speed when you are sitting only a few feet off the ground with nothing between you and the on-rushing air. How many people have ever had the opportunity to experience that?
Sauk/Prairie offers Swift 94 UL fuel. From what I understand, it is environmentally friendly, results in cleaner burning spark plugs, and requires fewer oil changes. The fuel is becoming more widely available. An STC is required. I will have to check into it. After a short-cut taxing on the grass, Pete parked the Zenith straight on in front of the pumps.
Fueling was uneventful, but it never ceases to amaze me at the number of self-service pumps I have encountered with display screens that simply cannot be read without some confusion or consternation. The screens are often hazy, clouded, crazed from years of exposure to the elements, or difficult to read in any sunlight, despite the flaps or hoods you usually find above them. “Is that a ‘3’ or an ‘8’? Who knows?” I will not expound on my opinions regarding the unique “buttonology” required for the operation of each airport’s self-service pumps.
While on the ground, we both commented on how the afternoon sky had transformed. No more vast swaths of sunshine. In its place, steel gray overcast had almost completely overtaken the blue sky we started our flight with. Contrasted against the golden fields and turning trees, it was a perfect mix and match of autumn colors. When finished with fueling, we rewound the fuel hose back on its clanking reel and, with a single, sharp jerk after detaching from the plane’s exhaust stack, retracted the grounding wire.
Pete handled the takeoff and, once we reached pattern altitude, again offered me the chance to take the controls. “You have the airplane.” “I have the airplane,” was my response, and I transitioned from being the pilot-not-flying to the pilot-flying. “What heading do we want to fly?” I asked.
“Look to the southeast,” Pete helpfully replied. “What do you see on the horizon?” It took me a moment to understand what he meant. I squinted through the windshield, not quite sure of what I was looking for. “Do you see the six wind turbines?” Pete asked. There they were. Or rather, what appeared to be miniatures, standing stark and upright against the sky, in the distance. The wind turbines are located on a hill about four miles from our destination. If we headed toward them, we tracked toward our airport. On a VFR day, flying and navigating can be simply accomplished. No GPS, ForeFlight, or glass screens required.
What remained for us to do on this flight? – only to monitor course, altitude, and our engine instruments. And, enjoy our time in the air. I do not know if we “topped the windswept heights with easy grace,” as John Gillespie Magee, Jr. so eloquently wrote long ago in his famous poem “High Flight,” but I think on that afternoon I understood what he was attempting to convey. We all do.
My first step toward becoming a pilot took place on a March afternoon at Batten Field in Racine, Wisconsin (KRAC) with a sky and clouds similar to what we saw today. “You sit in the left seat. You’ll do the takeoff and I’ll follow through with you on the controls,” my flight instructor casually informed me. The Cessna 172 Skyhawk was unfamiliar to me and a bit imposing, with its myriad of gauges, switches, and controls. “I must be able to do this if the instructor thinks I can,” I assured myself. As we gained speed down the runway, I gently pulled back on the yoke. Thirty (30) years after that first flight, I still experience many of the same sensations and feelings as I did the first time. What I have tried to do with my writing is capture those experiences and moments; experiences and moments we all have enjoyed, and we all have shared. The flight to Sauk/Prairie on that October afternoon re-affirmed the reason why I always wanted to fly.
Morey Field has one turf runway running North-South and one longer intersecting paved runway running East-West. For a non-towered airport, it is often very busy, with a helpful staff and a good maintenance shop. There is student traffic and a fair amount of general aviation traffic in the pattern and in the vicinity of the airport. About 10 miles northwest of C29, we noted on the CTAF that one aircraft was departing and one aircraft on downwind – both using Runway 28 for touch-and-goes. Pete decided to land on the turf, as the wind slightly favored Runway 19. We visually identified both aircraft sharing this small patch of sky with us. Pete announced that we would fly upwind, left cross, and left downwind for 19. There were no conflicts. Everyone reported, followed the patterns, and understood where the other traffic was and what each would do.
On crosswind flying east, we were presented with a view of Lake Mendota and the Capitol building beyond, standing majestic and alone above the isthmus skyline that crowds downtown Madison. We banked left over the beltline and followed it a short distance on our downwind leg. I turned base. The sight picture looked good. After turning final, I again relinquished the controls to Pete for the landing. Pete radioed the aircraft just turning on base for Runway 28 that we would stop short of 28 after landing.
Passing over a house and some trees on short final, the threshold of the grass runway flashed by underneath us. Pete is more than proficient at flying the Zenith – and many other airplanes as well. I have flown with him often enough to know we would be on speed, on glide path, and in the center of the runway for the landing. Had I closed my eyes, I am not sure I could swear when we were down. Soft. Sure. Confidently accomplished.
“Nice landing,” I said. However, I could not help but to playfully qualify my compliment. “I think it must be the soft turf or those big wheels.” We both laughed.
Two friends laughing and flying on a fall afternoon.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Dean Zakos (Private Pilot ASEL, Instrument) of Madison, Wisconsin, is the author of “Laughing with the Wind, Practical Advice and Personal Stories from a General Aviation Pilot.” Mr. Zakos has also written numerous short stories and flying articles for Midwest Flyer Magazine and other aviation publications.
DISCLAIMER: Mr. Zakos’ articles involve creative writing, and therefore the information presented may be fictional in nature, and should not be used for flight, or misconstrued as instructional material. Readers are urged to always consult with their personal flight instructor and others about anything discussed herein.
