Flying the Santa Fe Trail Story: long

Freckles... that's what they reminded me of... freckles. What hell
were those strange circular patches on the ground? A bit less than an
hour into the flight and the wife was asleep. I was thoroughly
enjoying my low altitude view. The headwind had forced us down low,
but now we were making very good time. There was smooth air and the
view stretched all the way to the flat Texas horizon, perhaps 60 or 70
miles distant.

Hives! My copilot had awakened and noticed the same scenery I'd been
contemplating. Without me saying even a word, she saw the same
features and said "they look like hives! I thought, you know she's
right, smallpox pustules or some such thing. Appearing about 10 to 12
feet in diameter they were in groups. The groups kept getting more
numerous, and there were more and more to a group. Small areas devoid
of the already sparse vegetation. I'd never noticed them anywhere
else. Of course I didn't usually fly this low, either. My scan went
from the instrument panel, checking fuel and engine gauges, to the
windshield looking for towers & traffic, (most likely birds at this
altitude), back to... what the heck are those things on the ground.
We were paralleling the Oklahoma panhandle but were just a bit south
of it near Texhoma and Stratford Texas. This perplexing view had been
going on for 10 or 20 minutes. The intriguing freckles only appeared
in the uncultivated grassland areas. Then it finally dawned on me!
Prairie dog towns! No wonder the ranchers hated them critters. They
had literally chewed up hundreds and maybe thousands of acres of the
precious grassland, leaving openings to their burrows that were a
menace to the livestock. A calf with a broken leg would have a hard
time making it to water around here. Not only were the ponds and
creeks getting scarce, the roads, fences and houses were as well. At
the start of my story I mentioned that I thought the wife and I had
just left from the American outback. If that was true ,we were really
headed into a threatening lunar like landscape now... into the
Jornada!

The little Cherokee slowly climbed with the rising terrain. It was
almost imperceptible at first, but now becoming much more noticeable.
As the miles clicked by the terrain became drier, higher and more
desolate. Nearing the southwest corner of the Oklahoma panhandle we
could make out some small mountainous features in the distance. These
were the extinct volcanoes, remnants of a geological period that
crushed, pulled and molded the region into what we saw before us.
Small volcano remnants looked similar to meteor caters, because they
lacked the cone. This was lending more credibility to the lunar
landscape description. We were leaving the Sea of Tranquility and
headed towards the unknown. The dark side! Can you imagine the
fortitude, the bravado, the skill that it took to tackle a trip across
this land below us in the 1800's? If the lack of water didn't get
them, then perhaps Indians, wolves, a mountain lion, or a rattlesnake
might. Not to mention natural causes like disease, heat stroke and
heart attack. The nearest emergency room, hah! The nearest doctor
and his buggy was 40 DAYS away. 40 DAYS! Just choose your poison
man! How many people started out only to get lost and never return.
Gone forever! M.I.A.! CRIPES! Once in awhile a wagon train would
come across a party or individual that had been scalped and mutilated
in grotesque ways. Left in a position and manner sure to be found! A
warning to anyone else foolhardy enough to trespass. Our ancestors
were amazing people tackling this JORNADA. Now, I had a much better
appreciation for the term.

The volcanoes became larger, easier to distinguish. We recognized
Mount Capulin in the distance. Just under two hours into the flight
and the small town of Clayton appeared. Although I had 3 hours of
fuel remaining, I wanted to land here before it got too hot and top
off the tanks. The AWOS was already squawking a density altitude of
7200 feet! It was nearing 1 p.m. That overcast weather delay at our
departure point was doing exactly what I'd wanted to avoid. Any
nearer the mountains and I feared trouble getting off the ground with
a full load of fuel. And considering the terrain and the fact that
we'd be following wandering wagon tracks instead of VOR's, highways or
railroads, I definitely didn't want to add a low fuel situation to the
equation. The delay caught us in early afternoon and temperatures
were rising quickly. We needed to fuel and get out of here! I'd
intentionally planned the trip for early spring, choosing ever
changing weather and possible thunderstorms over heat and high density
altitude. Little did I know that record high temperatures were about
to plague us throughout the duration of our trip. What we were about
to experience was a precursor of things to come.

The airport was abandoned! We taxied to the fuel pumps, climbed out,
stretched and headed for the "facilities". A sign with a phone number
beckoned that we use the phone to call for fuel. Within 10 minutes a
nice Hispanic gentleman arrived to top off the tanks. A quick bite
from the vending machine and a drink from the pop machine would get us
by for awhile. We'd eaten a late breakfast. I thought to myself, I
wonder what the wagon travelers would have given for a pop and vending
machine scattered every 50 miles or so along the trail!

A preflight check showed the airplane to still be in good order. I
ran the engine up, and remembered to lean for the density altitude.
The runway we had landed on was tempting because the wind was nearly
nil and in the opposite direction it headed toward lower terrain.
There was no traffic. I made the radio call, but the gentleman in the
terminal suggested taking a different runway that was a oriented a
little more into the light wind. I thanked him and took his advice,
figuring he was thoroughly familiar with the terrain and aircraft
performance in general. As expected, the Cherokee used a lot of that
nice 5000' long runway. I held her in ground effect, picking up speed
as we lifted slowly, grudgingly, into the air. As we passed over the
departure end, she struggled to climb at 150 feet per minute! As
speed slowly increased, the climb rate inched upwards. We headed
straight out, opposite our intended path to gain altitude as we took
advantage of the lower region south of the airport. A gentle turn to
get back on course got me to wondering if we would be able to out
climb the terrain. A gentle turn back the other way, and a 360 back
over the airport and we were in much better shape. I was glad I'd
removed the rear seats and had tried hard to keep our luggage to a
minimum. We were a good hundred pounds below gross, even with full
fuel.

We headed toward Rabbit Ears. Rabbit Ears? Yep! One of those
landmark mountains the wagon masters used to guide them. It was just
north of the airport and there was no mistaking why they named it what
they did. We were under the Mt. Dora MOA and I wanted to watch
closely for traffic. The ground was nearing 6000' msl and the
Cherokee strained to get us to a comfortable altitude that was low
enough we could see the wagon tracks, yet high enough for some safety
if we hit some downdrafts. At just below 9000' msl I became convinced
we could do this and began to relax a little. The airplane was really
purring and oil pressure and temperature were well into the green. In
a few minutes the wagon trail appeared. I mean there was no guessing
or doubt what so ever! It stood out well enough that it was almost
continuous. In this arid region, with no farm ground, erosion had had
little effect on the wagon tracks. They were deep scars running
endlessly towards the horizon. They would zig and zag and alter
course once in awhile. You could almost read the teamsters' minds as
you second guessed their route then realized they were headed that way
for a reason. Either, because of unforeseen Arroyo's ahead or was it
because the animals smelled water. Or was it grass, precious grass!
Fuel for the mules or oxen! Hundreds of them in each wagon train. Up
to 500! (Horses weren't used much. They played out rapidly, and the
Indians wanted to steal them all the time). We turned to the west
from a northwesterly heading, forgetting about radios & vor's. They
were useless. Out here we were on our own. Too low for help from ATC
and way off the airways. I used the sectional for a cross check but
relied on the wagon trail and the gps for guidance. A New Mexico
State Aeronautical chart picked up for free at Clayton proved useful
as well. It had the trail marked on it. Preprogrammed gps waypoints
alerted us to landmarks the travelers used. My copilot and I referred
to the guide book, to look for old foundations and battle sites as we
cruised along in a slow climb trying to maintain altitude. As the
afternoon wore on, gentle downdrafts and updrafts became increasingly
more common, and more of a concern as neared rougher and rougher
terrain. It wasn't frightening by any means, but it sure was a
welcome feeling when a 1200 fpm downdraft turned into an 800 fpm
updraft. I played sail plane pilot, trying to make use of the
thermals, even though I had no experience at it. I'd slow down in the
updrafts and nose down a bit in the down drafts. It seemed to work.
Anyway, I had fun playing. The landscape was scenic in a drab,
desert, lunar sort of way and yet a bit uncomforting in that there
were extremely few roads, towns or houses even in this day and age.
The thought occurred to me that if the wagon masters were tough enough
to get through this country alive then there are just no words to
describe the Indians that roamed the region. The New Mexico state
motto, "The Land of Enchantment". It looked more like "the Land of a
quick death to me"!

To be continued... damn this is taking longer to write than it did to
fly it. In the mean time...here's those web links. Some have good
sattelite photos.
www.westernairtrails.com
http://www.stjohnks.net/santafetrail...elinkpage.html