If you know a friend who flew, or flies, a private airplane there’s a high probability your amateur flying friend can tell you a harrowing flying story.
Private pilots wait for the weather to improve before they roll their single-engine, small planes from the hangar. If more than one pilot waits, they gather and tell stories about their flying exploits. Such a gab session pilots call “hangar flying”.
Here’s one example:
My sports photographer friend hitch-hiked a ride in my single-engine, four passenger, high-wing Cessna 182 to return from Albuquerque to Abilene. Roberts had lots of passenger flying experience as he filmed the Hardin-Simmons University football team when they played on both of the coasts.
Before we took off, I checked the weather reports east of Alburquerque. Tucumcari, clear, ceiling 9,000 feet. Lubbock, 8,500 feet, clear. Abilene, clear. As we flew east, fog began to gather above our plane. Near Vaughn, New Mexico, my altimeter showed 900 feet. I decided to fly above the railroad to Tucumcari. No TV towers in the middle of the railroad. And I wouldn’t get lost flying the railroad’s “iron beam”.
But east of Vaughn, I had to descend to 500 feet to stay out of the fog. Then, fog surrounded our plane. As I watched my “needle and ball” wing-leveling indicator, I turned 180 degrees then descended to 200 feet before I got visibility. I flew above the railroad back to the Vaughn airport. It was the first time I had landed at the Vaughn airport, a dirt strip
As I lined up to land, I remarked, “This isn’t much of a runway.”
Roberts held fast to the passenger strap over his window as he spoke.
“I’ve landed at LaGuardia Airport. I’ve landed at Los Angeles Airport. This is the prettiest airport I’ve ever seen.”
