Page 15 - Now, I think I am lost...

     I am facinated by the vastness of the rugged, pristine beauty of the high country. Everything looks wild, untamed, and unspoiled. What peace I find as the little airplane takes me sailing through the air like a child on a magic carpet. I find myself day dreaming. I was so intoxicated with the whole experience that right now I think I am lost.
     Pilots don't like to admit they have ever been lost while flying, but right now the compass shows to the northeast, my ultimate direction in going home. Now, I find myself coming up on a beautiful lake or reservoir. I couldn't be too far off course. I study my chart and confirm where I am at. The reservoir is called Pathfinder. It certainly helped me find where I wanted to be! I am right on course and about sixty miles southwest of Casper, Wyoming.
     This has been an odyssey for the Vagabond, Pilot, and me. It seems that to turn the airplane to any point on the compass there is endless beauty. I fly by Independence Rock, a historic land mark on the Oregon Trail. This rock was named on July 4, 1830 in honor of the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. I would suppose this land mark is still a welcome site for today's travelers in this area. "Harlan, you will never learn to fly, and for sure you will never own an airplane."

Page 14 - Pilot is ready

     Then, I walked outside to survey my surrounding. I thought that I would just gas the airplane myself. It looked like the gas pit facility was about the same as the one I operated in San Mateo. As I go back to the hanger to get the gas can out of the airplane, I can see the snow is beginning to let up. I could go over to the administration building and get someone to gas the plane, but I can do it okay.  It is a joy to be down and safe and servicing the airplane myself. Checking the oil and satisfying myself the airplane is okay, now I will find the office and pay for the fuel. Maybe, I can find a cup of coffee and be on my way.
     The people sitting around the office were surprised to see me. They asked where I came from and when I landed. I told him I came up from Rock Springs, feeling my way across the Continental Divide, and worked my way down the highway and into the airport. It was snowing so bad I didn't think anyone would see me. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I landed and taxied up and into the hanger and even serviced the airplane already.  The people sitting around just couldn't see how I landed in near blizzard conditions. I think it certainly wasn't from any skill of mine!
     I paid for the gas as they were telling me I was lucky I had got down safely. There had been more than a few pilots trying to make Rawlins in similar condiditions, and they were not so lucky.  We visited a short while longer over coffee then I went over to the wall chart of the Rawlins area. I studied the route up to Casper.

Rawlins to Casper, Wyoming

     Again, I have said all my goodbyes and ask if someone would come out to the hanger and help me push the airplane out and prop it for me so I can be on my way. The snow had given way to sunshine. The airplane looks okay and Pilot, the dog, is ready to go. The plane starts on the first pull of the prop, and soon I am taxiing out on the runway and then on my way to Casper. As I take off and climb out on course, I find the reason I have been constantly flying at higher indicated altitudes is that the average elevation in Wyoming is about six thousand seven hundred feet on the course I'm flying. Only Colorado has a somewhat higher elelavation. I find I'm still near part of the meandering Divide, but I'm on the east slope and there are gentle and few light down drafts.

    

Page 13 - A good little machine.

     Who would help me now if I panic? Be nice to have a cup of coffee if I could get my hand off the throttle or controls to hold it and a way I could sip it without taking my face out of the side window.
     The snow now is almost at blizzard conditions and now there is a RUNWAY! Someone has shown me the way! As I turn into what I really hope is a runway, I barely reduce power. I will have to fly this approach as the snow is blowing so hard there is no such thing as gliding. The airplane responds nicely to the controls. I sort of have to fly taxi this way and that hoping to find a place to park and tie the airplane down before the wind blows it away. I see an open hanger and head for it. I can see the gas pit where the airplane would probably be fueled if someone could see me which they don't. Who would be flying in this sort of weather? I come up to the open hanger and taxi right on into the hanger and even turn it around in the hanger before I turn the engine off.
     As I cut the engine, I have to sit and think awhile about where I am at and what I am going to do. I think I should be expressing some sort of word of thanks. Maybe we have guardian angels. I really have to think about this experience. It is still snowing, and I can hardly see anything outside past the hanger door. I am thankful I am down and safe as I begin to stir around and undo my seat belt. I open the door so my dog, Pilot, can get out and stretch. Finally, I get out of the airplane not knowing what I'm going to do, but whatever I do I better get started. Other than my airplane, the hanger is bare. I did walk around the airplane as if I had to admire its design and how well it can fly. A good little machine.

Page 12 - I never figured I would get in a mess like this.

     No time to file a flight plan. It's on to Rawlins, Wyoming.
     Leaving out of Rock Springs, I'm glad there is still a highway below me that leads to Rawlins.  I find myself at about seven thousand five hundred feet indicated altitude, which is only about four to five hundred feet above the ground, flying the Great Divide Basin aka The Red Desert. It is such an arid land.  The sky is now getting somewhat grayer as I begin to hug the highway. Now, it is "IFR - I Follow Roads." Visibility is not good. I know in a few minutes I will be crossing the Continental Divide, and I hope I can continue to see the highway and around anywhere so i can get on into Rawlins.
     Not much to see on the chart as I look for certain check points on my route.  I find myself looking this way and that as the ceiling gets lower and moisture is beginning to show up on the windshield. I open the side window to see better. I probably should have inquired about the weather before I left Rock Springs, but I didn't. Now, there are flakes of snow hitting the windshield.  I hadn't thought about an alternate airport, and in this country, with this short fuel range, there is no alternate airport. "If I have to, I will land on the highway." I have no time to look at the compass. For that matter, there is no time to look at a chart. The snow is now beginning to get heavy. "Fly little airplane! Fly!"
     I have no idea now of time and distance. I guess I never figured I would get in a mess like this.
     At Rawlins, the airport should be on the east side of town, right near the highway. I will fly so close to the ground that if I can assure Rawlins, I can assure the airport. "Fly little airplane! Fly!"  The snow is even heavier now. I can hardly see. I hope there is nothing higher in front of me than I am flying! A quick glance at the altimeter shows I am now about seven thousand indicated. "I must have went over the continental divide." I'm not sure if I even set the altimeter back at Rock Springs. Maybe, it is still reading correctly...

Skellytown American Flyers - (Not a part of Harlan's first flight home)

 July 4th, 1971 - Skellytown American Flyers Annual 4th of July Trip. Cessna Skyhawk. Passengers - Doug Boyd, Doug Lacy, and Kim Wallace. Hot Springs, SD to North Platte, NE leg of return portion of trip to Pampa, TX

     I had told Doug Boyd that if he went with us on our annual trip on the 4th of July that on the way home if conditions were right we would come back via Lake McConaughy located just north of Ogalla, NE.
     The trip came off as planned, and we were returning home on the route as planned. About 20 miles north of of Lake McConaughy, Doug asked me if I would mind stopping by the lake. I said that I thought we could. 10 miles or so north of the lake, we called the flight service station at Sidney, NE and got the surface winds and surface temperature. The service said the surface temperature to be 72 degrees. As I knew with the loads we had been carrying, we had been having longer take off runs. I didn't want to land in a place I couldn't get out of safely. Before landing, we computed what our take off run would be at the lake by using both the Cessna owners manual and a Denalt computer. We had figured we had roughly 600 to 800 feet of runway to spare and to me that was plenty of room.  I knew it would be somewhat less than that with the cruise prop we had on the plane, but we should be safe enough though.
     Before we landed at the lake, we flew low over the runway and checked the conditions before landing. Then we set up the approach to land. I knew from the way the plane felt coming in that it might be a little difficult to take off, but we landed.

     Lake McConaughy was a nice place to come into, but I couldn't seem to enjoy it like the others. I stayed concerned about how we were going to leave back out. Doug, as usual, being his generous self, offered to buy our dinner. Naturally, we all went up to the cafe to eat. With the possible situation like it was I didn't feel much like eating, so I told Doug for the them to go ahead and eat and all I would have was an ice tea.

     I sat at the table only long enough to have a sip of tea while the others went ahead and ate and then after my sip of tea I left the cafe and went down to the east end of the runway. It was less than 50 feet from the waters edge. I went down there for two reasons. To see how I was going to take off and just where I could find a rest room. After it was all said and done, it was easier to see how I was going to take off. I  must have walked a quarter of a mile to the out door out houses only to find after I got there that you had to have your own key. Fortunately, mother nature provided adequate private facilities.

     I guess when I'm in a bind I'm rather cautious. The winds were almost 90 degrees to the runway, and I wanted the direction that was the most advantagious. I periodically tossed bits of grass in the air counting the times the wind blew the grass to the east or the west. I finally decided that the take off would be to the east and with that part off my mind, I made the long walk up to the cafe.

     On arriving at the cafe, my friends were just barely getting through eating, and I was in no hurry to rush them. I finished my tea, but it didn't do much for me and while I was walking up to the cafe a thought came to my mind. "Call the Ogalla, NE flight service and have the operator fly over the hill to the lake, pick up one of my passengers, and we could take off easily. Then I would fly to Ogalla, pick up my passenger, refuel, and be on our way to North Platte to meet the rest of our party in the Cherokee."
     Then I thought the other way. "As sure as I called the operator over he would probably say to me, 'you take my plane and fly it back and I'll show you how to fly your Cessna out of here still loaded with four people.'" So, I talked myself out of that idea!
     Doug paid the bill, and we strolled down the hill to the Cessna to check it over closely. We started it up and taxied down to the runway and down the runway to the west end. To very west end! I had the tail off the end of the runway over the brush. We went through a power check.
     A long time ago, and I don't know how true it to be, but a friend of mine told me if you want all the available power, to turn off the master switch so all the power is to the engine instead of the distribution of some of the power to the electrical components.  So, I turned the master switch off. It did seem a little more powerful than before, but maybe I only thought that as we shoved the throttle forward and began to roll down the runway. A 2400 foot runway. We rolled and rolled AND rolled. When we passed the cafe at little past the half way mark, we didn't even move the airspeed indicator over the 40mph mark. Should I cut the power? We were moving fairly fast. We might slide in the grass to the end of the runway and go into the water anyway.

     I feel sure my passengers were getting a little worried. Sitting on the right side, I had my hand on the flap switch with the other hand on the controls. Doug hollered, "Now?" I said, "No!" His had was on the master switch, and as soon as I had said no, I yelled, "Yes!" With my hand depressing the flap switch, I glanced at the airspeed. The plane was getting light with the speed going from 45 to 50. There can't be 200 feet of runway left. Indicated speed and calibrated speed were possibly running two or three miles per hour faster than we're reading. The flaps are taking effect. The speed now a little over 50. Doug has his head down, and my life passes in front of me, as we whiz right between the boat masts and the trees. The stall warning is ringing! I lower the nose. Just a mile or two more and I'll keep the wheels out of the water. We cross the inlet, and there is hill and more trees. Not enough speed to turn... FLY BABY FLY! We are coming to the trees. We are getting climb speed in a normal down draft area, and I hold the nose down for as long and as low as I can. 75 and she is climbing easy, but I'll stay on the edge of my seat until I put it down in Ogalla. While we refuel, I regroup my senses. In Ogalla, I get a couple of hamburgers to go and we  begin our journey on south to Pampa, TX. I figured we used 2395 feet of a 2400 foot long runway.

Page 11 - I'm using all the runway, and there is no where to go.

     Fort Bridger, Wyoming looks like I'm landing on a mountain top. The airplane is handling somewhat different, but all is well.
     As I was on a flight plan from Odgon to Fort Bridger, the flight service station attendants gave me a warm welcome. They don't have many flights in and out of Fort Bridger in the fall and winter. It's was winter , but there was no snow on the ground.
     A cup of coffee went well, and I would have to fill up the plane from the five gallon can of gas I carried with me. Here they helped me prop the plane, and then its off again on to Rock Springs, Wyoming.
     Some how as I taxi for take off things don't seem right. For sure different than if I was at San Mateo, Ca. I check the airplane for power and set the altimeter and its off I go. As I roll and roll and roll... why is all of this different? I would not know how density altitude effects the power and performance of this little airplane. I'm using all the runway, and there is no where to go. The plane seems to feel lighter now and speed is beginning to pick up as I barely passed the end of the runway and down on the open range land. ( I will have to think about all of this!). I now head for Rock Springs. Another range of high mountains in front of me, but there is a wide open pass in the mountains. I'll be okay.
     Landing at Rock Springs was routine. The airplane is serviced, and then on to Rawlins, Wyoming. After the plane was serviced, I asked the airport attendant if he would prop the plane for me. He looked at me with a frown, a scowl of a look. " See this scar? This is what happened to me when I propped a plane and the operator did not handle the throttle and brake properly." He would show me a scar on the side of his face where he was hit by a propeller blow. "No, I will not prop the airplane for you. I'm sorry."
     Now what? I don't want to prop the airplane by myself, and I need to leave now. The attendant could see the sad look of disappointment on my face. "Man, I'll prop it for you, but do the things I tell you to do!" The little engine would respond to the move of the propeller. I'm off again to Montana. With a tear on my face, I thanked the attendant over and over as I would now head out to the runway and on to Montana.

Page 10 - Will my little airplane traverse those mountains???

     Landing at Lucin, Utah, it would be an experience landing on the salt flats. I had a five gallon can of gas and would have to fuel the plane myself and crank it ( carefully, remembering my experience in San Mateo ).
     The airplane refueled and cranked, I'm on my way to Ogdon, Utah. I had barely taken off when I would see a railroad section house on the flats of the west side of Salt Lake. I would see a girl walking to an out door toilet. I circled and circled around the toilet till the girl came out and waved. Then, again, I was back on course following the railroad track across the Salt Lake. I see a train in front of me, so lonesome to see people and create a little excitement, I flew close to the passenger train and would wave at the passengers on the train as I flew  by.
     The Salt Lake is a sight to see as Odgon looms in the distant east. There is a mountain range east of Ogdon. All of this is new to me. Will my little airplane traverse those mountains???
     Landing at Odgon was quite routine. I was able to have a good nights rest, but in the morning, I stare at this awesome ridge of mountains that are between me and my next stop, Fort Bridger, Wyoming.
     Landing at Fort Bridger would be a new experience for me. No one taught me anything about mountain flying or aircraft performance in the mountains.
     I was on a flight plan from Ogdon to Fort Bridger. Before I had taken off from Odgon I asked one of the attendants at the airport about how I would negotiate crossing the mountain range in front of me on the way up to Fort Bridger. The attendant told me to head the plane for a letter that was on the side of the mountain and on my flight path and the up drafts from the winds off the Salt Lake would give me a boost up over the mountain range.
     I depart and headed into the mountain range and there is the letter on the mountain side. I head for it as all the sudden the airplane is climbing at a rate that I could not believe. All the sudden, I have extra power and the climb is exhilarating!

Page 9 - All seems strange.

     I told the service station attendants that I had passed over a lighted airport west of Wennemucca coming in from Reno, but the pilots for San Francisco Land Co told me that the first airport I came to was closed. I was advised to land at the one nearest to town. I could hardly see when I landed, but I landed at the airport east of town, fell in a river or canal or irrigation ditch and nearly froze walking to town.
     The attendants said the runway I had landed at had been closed for years then touched a place on the wall and out comes a phone. "Bill, this is Jack at the Two Stiffs Selling Gas Service Station. Would you close a flight plan for a Piper Vagabond 4630H?" The flight service had said they were glad to get the call as I was well overdue on the flight plan, but had yet to begin any search for it. Now, all is well.
     The attendants could not believe where I landed and that I had to walk to town. They helped me to find a room at a local hotel.
     Morning of November 15, 1952, I arose at sunup and found a local cafe where I could regroup and then find a way out to the field where I landed and be on my way from Wennemucca to Battle Mountain, NV.
     I would walk to the service station. On picture postcards, the service station was known as the Two Stiffs Selling Gas.  One of the attendants took me out to the closed airport where  I would need to refuel the airplane. He was evidently familiar with this airport as he knew how to start the gas pump. I had him put a couple of gallons of fuel on the ground to be sure there was no water in the fuel line. This all being done, the attendant helped me start the airplane and I'm off to continue my adventure as it would be, on up to Montana.
     Battle Mountain assured and its on to Lucin, Utah. All seems strange. The higher altitude. The colder air. I had little experience flying at these higher altitudes, but it all exciting!