Where do I begin? This blog normally has one of two characteristics: talking about the flight in question, or long philosophical essays about the futility of existence. This whole flight sequence represents so much chaos and tangential subjects that I can’t even begin to attempt to approach it, so I’ll dumb it down to a flying missive.
The flight was late last year, in the freezing cold, from Lock Haven, PA to Buffalo, NY. It turned out to be more than one flight, the photos hereby compressed into one post. I was not flying the Cub; rather, I was operating a Super Cub. My airplane flies 200 miles before the fan quits, so that wouldn’t work so well over 700 mile legs with no fuel crossing the Atlantic. Believe it or not, I get asked all the time if I flew the Cub across the Ocean. Don’t ask about why I am flying the Super Cub in question, or all the shit that went down afterward. I didn’t steal it, I promise….
The flight in question was written about here on AOPA’s site also.
I don’t recall seeing such vivid ice and snow textures from flying the Cub here 20 years ago. That might have something to do with the fact that my grandfather would flee to Florida, the airfield wasn’t plowed, I didn’t have skis for the plane, and general Western New York culture is to hide in one’s house all winter long while bitching about it.
The airfield where I grew up and soloed the PA-11 (left to right). My grandfather had sold it in 2016. Short field, always a crosswind, wires on one end. It puts a smile on my face that the PA-11 still flies…
Bry Lyn – Literally the loonie bin. After untold decades of confining the disturbed in unpleasant circumstances, it fell into some form of disrepair, and now the state is spending $100MM to make it pretty.
Buffalo City Hall. So I am told, someone jumped off the top in the 70s and ended up literally shishkabobing himself on the flagpole. The City, in turn, moved the flagpole further away for the next one. What a planet we live on….
Larch trees again. So here is the funny thing: I had no clue larch trees existed in New York until I left living there. I first “discovered” them flying in Montana in 2015, then researched them, finding that they come as far south as where I spent two decades living.
Larch trees! I mentioned to my wife that I do not recall ever seeing anything like this and thought I was going crazy. She confirmed she doesn’t remember them in New York at all, either, so it must have been an exceptional year for them. I suppose that whole overblown “spiritual connection” bit is in full swing.