Flying the Santa Fe Trail Story: long

A few weeks ago, someone in rec.aviation.piloting??, asked about
flying the Oregon trail. At the time of that post I had this trip
planned for a portion of the Santa Fe trail. I just now have had time
to set down and relate part of it. Here it is. Three days of perfect
flying weather while I had to work and now this! I knew it would
happen! The vacation days had to be selected well in advance because
of job commitments. The hoped for trip would take about 6 days.
Trying to find an opening in the Oklahoma spring weather for a vfr
pilot and plane was a stretch, I knew. But what the heck, if you
don't try you'll never succeed. I was off work yesterday and it was
beautiful, but the boss, (wife and non flying copilot) had to take
daughter #2 prom dress shopping and I knew better than to object to
that. Living in the American equivalent of the Australian outback,
prom dress shopping is a big ordeal involving several different towns
and dress shops 60 to 140 miles distant. For the women folk, it
vaguely compares to one of us buying an airplane. How, you ask?
Well, the girls have to do a pre-buy inspection on several different
dresses using girl friends and their mommas much as we use A&P's to
critique, comment, and cull. Finally after several days, (or in the
case of my family... weeks) of agonizing, they select one dress to
try. They then they spend a small fortune, on something that still
needs alterations before they're happy with it. It's impractical as
hell and will make no sense later. See I told you.. just like an
airplane. And, what the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, the trip!
700' ceilings, crap! I'd changed the oil yesterday and fiddled
around the airport checking the outlook weather, flight planning and
going over the Cherokee. Now, the dress had been purchased, and the
wife was ready to go. She got to sleep in late this morning due to
the
weather and she was in a great mood. The bags were stowed, the
airplane fueled and everything was ready. Except the weather wasn't.
We walked to the FBO and visited with the line guys and my CFI / A&P.
The weather was supposed to break about 11 a.m. We would get a late
start if we got started at all. Another weather check in the terminal
says airports 10 mile to the west are vfr! We see breaks in the
overcast and head for the Piper.
She fires up easily and before the wheels start rolling the cell
phone rings. It's the boss. @#%*!, Major personnel issues at work.
I shut down the engine, climb out of the plane so I can get better
reception and call him back. A ten minute conversation later, I'm
o.k. to go. Whew! The boss closes the conversation by saying, "don't
let this issue ruin your vacation... don't even think about it while
you're gone"... ya right! We fire up again, taxi for take-off and
climb away from months of job stress... right into the face of a
forty knot head wind. @#!&! I'd climbed too high trying to get above
the scattered remnants of that ceiling. On a trip of this length I
wasn't going to be happy with that headwind, so down low we went. The
clouds disappeared as we entered the Texas panhandle. Our ground
speed picked up considerably and the turbulence was negligible even as
low as we were. We were enjoying the low altitude view from 800 to
1500 AGL.
We had flown out of the Indian country I grew up in, the land of
the "Battle of the Wa****a", Camp Supply, and numerous skirmishes
between settlers and Indians and cavalry. Out of Custer country and
Black Kettle country. My grandmother, bless her heart, had, as a
child heard many of the stories of the brutality of the Indians. Of
massacres on both sides, and of mutilation, capture and slavery.
"They weren't called savages for nothing", she'd say. Grandma herself
was a true pioneer who homesteaded here before statehood. The saying,
'The only good Indian is a dead Indian" had real meaning to her. When
her husband died of a broken back suffered in a fall from a windmill,
she raised her seven children single handedly through the depression,
and droughts, and wars. The Indians had been her generation's version
of Iraqi's. Of terrorists. Of, hell there I go again, I digress...
We were now in search of the Santa Fe trail. We'd previously
followed portions of it over the last few years and I hoped to pick it
up near Clayton, New Mexico. Clayton was our first planned fuel stop.
This little hobby all started when I'd seen one of those highway
markers while driving. You know the ones saying that "the trail
crossed here". One day I found myself puttering around the area
burning airplane gas when I thought I'd go see if I could find the
wagon wheel ruts from the air. A look at a sectional and some quickly
estimated gps coordinates put me near the highway marker. Low and
behold I could faintly make out some faint lines in the grass! They
were hard to distinguish from cattle paths and it took a bit to figure
out what I was looking at, but sure enough, there they were. I think?
Soon, I lost them. But I followed their general direction looking for
a place they might cross a river. How about that! There they were
again. Deeper and more obvious. They drew me on, almost coaxing me
to follow. Now there was no doubt in my mind. They became plainer,
stood out so to speak. The crossed the Cimarron river. They went
straight to a watering hole miles and miles from any stream or river.
I would follow them for aways and then lose them where the ground had
been plowed or the terrain change to rock. Then I'd spot them again a
bit further along. Soon I realized that the old wagon masters would
have followed some type of landmarks so I started guessing what they
would have used... you know, what stood out. Sure enough, if I flew
in the general direction of a bluff or rock outcropping or a dry
depression that might have once, or still did hold water, the ruts
would reappear. Now this was getting interesting! By now I'd
followed the trail's remnants way out in the Oklahoma panhandle past
the state line and decided I'd better get back home and refuel.
Over the next year or so, I did some research on the net and I
purchased William W. White's book, "Following the Santa Fe Trail by
Air". Let me stop right here and put in a plug for Mr. White. When I
called and ordered his book, I talked to him in person. As part of
the deal and without asking, he threw in his other book on the Oregon,
Mormon, and California trails along with loose leaf updated gps
coordinates that hadn't yet been added to the first printing of the
"Flying Santa Fe Trail by Air". He answered questions about the
route. Questions about best times to see the ruts and lighting
conditions, as well as about flying a low powered airplane in the high
terrain. I'd like to thank Mr. White and make it clear that this trip
was much safer and more enjoyable without a doubt due to his research
and well written book. It contains a brief history of the trail that
brings it alive. If you decide to try this trip yourself, without a
doubt, buy the book! Back to the story.
Subsequent flights took the wife and I up toward Dodge City as we
followed the trail's northern route. We'd find old fort foundations,
spring crossings, and places where Indian attacks had occurred.
Sometimes we would land and visit sites and museums along the route.
One such outing took us to La Junta, Colorado to visit Bent's Fort.
It had been fully restored by the park service.
Now, here we were skimming over the earth traveling 35 or 40 times
the speed of those
wagons, and we had a bird's eye view of the terrain. Just imagine
what those teamsters would have thought if they could see us now. Pure
magic! Perhaps the Indians would have taken us for a God, a
Thunderbird!
This part of the trail we'd be traveling today was the "Jornada"
or the part of the trail that became know as the journey of no return.
The near desert conditions combined with frequent Indian attacks had
caused the wagon teamsters to seek a safer route to the north and then
down along the eastern side of the Rockies, somewhat paralleling I-25
for part of it's distance. The Jornada! That term kept entering my
mind as I planned the flight in a low powered airplane over desolate,
hostile, high density altitude territory. I hoped it wasn't still
true, the no return part, but it was too late now. The adventure had
begun.

To be continued... if anyone is interested and still reading. In the
mean time...here's some web links.
www.westernairtrails.com
http://www.stjohnks.net/santafetrail...elinkpage.html


--
Joe Schneider
8437R
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