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

To be continued... damn this is taking longer to write than it did to
fly it.

Great write-up, Joe. Keep the chapters coming!
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"

A window into the past had been opened. The wagon trail below us was
undeniable proof that the great western stories were more than just
fiction. More than a John Wayne movie or a dime novel. We could
imagine the dust billowing up behind the winding column of wagons.
Warriors were watching from the ridges. Smoke signals rose from a far
mesa.

Rabbit Ears, Round Mountain, Mount Dora, Point of Rocks, Canadian
crossing. as the landmarks and waypoints passed slowly below us, we
used the "Santa Fe Trail by Air" as a tourist guide. My copilot wife
and I were discussing the events that had transpired at each of these
places. Perhaps the massacre at Wagon Mound. Or a deadly outbreak of
cholera. Then, what was that! My attention was instantly drawn back
into the cockpit! The engine had missed a beat. You know, the sound
you hear when you pull the mixture back just a tad too far when
searching for best power. The tach wavers almost imperceptibly. That'
s what this felt like. But I hadn't touched the mixture. I scanned
the gauges; oil pressure and temperature were okay, fuel in both
tanks, fuel pressure okay. Look for a landing sight dummy! There was
nothing below us but rock and arroyos. No fields, no roads, no flat
land at all. A glider pilot's worst nightmare. C'mon baby, don't
quit me now! I listened intently, ready to pull carb heat and switch
tanks at the next hiccup. A surge of adrenaline coursing through my
veins. Heart beat was racing. But the engine ran on. I looked over
at my copilot gazing out the window, mesmerized by the deep river
valley gouged downstream of Canadian crossing. She needed no
reassurance. One look at her face told me she'd heard nothing. I'd
heard nothing either. It was the same phenomenon many pilots have
experienced flying over a large lake. You subconsciously imagine the
worst. The Great Spirit had gotten the message across. Enjoy the
scenery, but don't get complacent. My scan now included looking for
suitable emergency landing sites with increased vigor. Confidence
slowly ebbed back into my soul. The Lycoming was running, No! purring
sweeter than ever, even at this high altitude. As fuel burned off she
became stronger, more frisky. I think the airplane was enjoying this,
too. I could almost hear her laughing at the startled look on my face
when I thought she was about to let me down.

Off in the distance a silver ribbon appeared. Not a river, a highway.
I-25! Civilization, an endless landing strip! Soon we were within
gliding distance. I wonder what the teamsters would have thought of
the diesel tractor trailers running down THAT trail. Will someday our
great grandchildren look down from a yet unimagined transportation
unit, and wonder in awe at the remnants of a super highway? The trail
paralleled the highway, crossing and re-crossing in spots. We passed
the point where the northern and southern routes joined together.
This was an area known for turbulence and mountain rotors. But the
winds weren't bad, and now we could make out towns in the distance.
Las Vegas, New Mexico was our next planned stop. I wanted to land and
explore the remnants of Fort Union. I wanted to walk in those ruts
down below to get a better idea of how deep they were. They were now
coming from several directions. You know the saying that all roads
lead to Rome. Well, in this case all ruts converged at Fort Union.
The trail is in many places, a series of trails, where teams had to
take detours to find better grass or more water. They usually tied
back into the main trail, but even it was more than a two track wagon
path.

The plan to land at Las Vegas, refuel and spend some time on the
ground viewing the ruts up close never made it to fruition. It was
getting later in the afternoon, there was at least 21/2 hours of fuel
still on board according to the timer and fuel gauges. And I didn't
want to risk another high density altitude take-off that was bound to
be more challenging than the one at Clayton. For by now, it was even
warmer, the airport elevation was higher, (6877') and the density
altitude was off the scale. The secondary plan was to follow the
trail southward until it turned toward the mountain pass, then make a
decision. Either, leave the trail and fly to lower terrain and cross
just east of Albuquerque where we'd spend the night or, if we were
brave, continue to follow the trail through the higher pass all the
way to Santa Fe. The way points clicked by and with civilization
becoming more predominant it was harder to pick up the ruts visually.
They now often disappeared into the trees. Trees! That's something
we hadn't seen for hundreds of miles. We marveled at the mountains
looming before us. The Cherokee was in a slow climb. Stronger and
lighter than ever, she droned upwards, the propeller tenaciously
ripping, trying to get a bite on the thin air. We could make it! We
could clear the mountains on each side of the pass now. I was focused
on the wind and the weather. I became busier with the charts and the
radios and the traffic scans. We kept climbing for more of a safety
margin, more options, more outs. And we passed comfortably over the
crest and entered the valley below. Our destination lay out before
us. A call to the tower at SAF announced our presence. A sense of
accomplishment washed over us. We'd done it! I brushed those
thoughts aside to savor later, after we were safely on the ground. We
glanced down at adobe homes and businesses as we crossed over the
south edge of town and entered the traffic pattern. Man, I wanted to
squeak this landing! A great touchdown would put an exclamation point
at the end of a nice trip. No! Not a trip, an adventure through time!
The landing wasn't a 10. Probably not even a 9. One main touched
down a hair before the other. But it was a good landing.

It was 4:30 p.m. and we were hungry. We'd missed lunch and although
we were not that tired, we were ready to take a break and enjoy our
destination for the rest of the afternoon and evening. The folks at
Millionaire treated us well. They set us up with a rental car, found
us some lodging, and pampered the Cherokee. We freshened up at the
hotel, went out for a nice dinner, then headed downtown to the market
plaza. This was the final stop for those wagon trains of goods
transported from half a country away. We visited the Palace of the
Governors, (the oldest continuously occupied building in the U.S.
which is now a museum), toured the old Spanish cathedral, and learned
more about the history of the city, it's culture, and the trail.

Later, back at the hotel we hit the pillows. for tomorrow, "Manifest
Destiny" would call again! Sedona or Bust!

Epilogue: In the story of Bill Lear's life, he refers to his jet as a
time machine. It can transport you forward into the future by making
travel so fast you could be at a business meeting on the coast in
morning, zoom to another meeting clear across the nation, then zoom
back home before dinner. Travel that used to take months was now
possible in mere hours. Our Piper is a better time machine than the
Lear. okay go ahead and laugh, but hear me out. The Cherokee had
transported us over what was 33 day journey by wagon from Clayton to
Santa Fe in just 2.2 hours! That's nothing compared to a jet you say!
Well you see, there is something else to consider. The Cherokee has
the ability to transport you BACKWARD in time as well. By flying low
and slow we could see the evidence our great grandfathers had left
etched in the soil 150 years in the past. It is a time machine that
provides a spectacular view that even the Great Spirit may be envious
of.

"JJS" jschneider@REMOVE SOCKSpldi.net wrote in message
...

Freckles... that's what they reminded me of... freckles. What the
hell

were those strange circular patches on the ground? A bit less than
an

hour into the flight and the wife was asleep.

Well you see, there is something else to consider. The Cherokee has
the ability to transport you BACKWARD in time as well. By flying low
and slow we could see the evidence our great grandfathers had left
etched in the soil 150 years in the past. It is a time machine that
provides a spectacular view that even the Great Spirit may be envious
of.

Great story, Joe. Truer words were never spoken....

Thanks for posting it!
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"

Are you going to submit this to the New Yorker? You should try it
(maybe thru an agent) -- it's certainly at the quality of other pieces
I've enjoyed reading there.

Blush... Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I wouldn't have a
clue how to begin to get published.

Joe Schneider
Cherokee 8437R

"AES/newspost" wrote in message
...
Are you going to submit this to the New Yorker? You should try it
(maybe thru an agent) -- it's certainly at the quality of other
pieces
I've enjoyed reading there.

JJS wrote:

Blush... Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I wouldn't have a
clue how to begin to get published.

1. Print the article out nicely in its entirety.
2. Select a set of magazines in which you'd like it to appear.
3. Type up a nice cover letter asking telling them you thought they might be
interested in publishing this and why. Keep it on your computer so you can
change the magazine name and address. Don't mention payment in any way. In
particular, don't tell them it's free.
4. Send the article with the cover letter to the editor of the first magazine
on your list.
5. Wait 6 weeks for a letter from them.
6. Repeat as necessary, going down through the list.

If you run out of names, make up another list. Try the non-aviation mags first.
Speaking for myself, I hope you can sell this to one of those instead of preaching to
the choir.

George Patterson
This marriage is off to a shaky start. The groom just asked the band to
play "Your cheatin' heart", and the bride just requested "Don't come home
a'drinkin' with lovin' on your mind".

George,
Thanks a heap. Personally, I believe the story would need more
work to have a chance at publication. My editing left several
mistakes, and my wording could have been better, as I was really
pressed for time. I may pursue your suggestions on a more refined
version if... big if... I can ever find the time to do it. I
sincerely appreciate the help. I'll let you know if I decide to go
forward.

Joe Schneider
Cherokee 8437R
"G.R. Patterson III" wrote in message
...


JJS wrote:

Blush... Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I wouldn't have
a
clue how to begin to get published.

1. Print the article out nicely in its entirety.
2. Select a set of magazines in which you'd like it to appear.
3. Type up a nice cover letter asking telling them you thought they
might be
interested in publishing this and why. Keep it on your computer
so you can
change the magazine name and address. Don't mention payment in
any way. In
particular, don't tell them it's free.
4. Send the article with the cover letter to the editor of the first
magazine
on your list.
5. Wait 6 weeks for a letter from them.
6. Repeat as necessary, going down through the list.

If you run out of names, make up another list. Try the non-aviation
mags first.
Speaking for myself, I hope you can sell this to one of those
instead of preaching to
the choir.

George Patterson
This marriage is off to a shaky start. The groom just asked the
band to
play "Your cheatin' heart", and the bride just requested "Don't
come home
a'drinkin' with lovin' on your mind".

In article ,
"G.R. Patterson III" wrote:

JJS wrote:

Blush... Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I wouldn't have a
clue how to begin to get published.

1. Print the article out nicely in its entirety.
2. Select a set of magazines in which you'd like it to appear.
----------------rest snipped-----------------------

Or look for a literary agent who will handle it and have the requisite
professional contacts in the big name magazine world -- though as an
amateur and likely previously unpublished author, finding one who truly
knows how to help you do this kind of thing may not be easy.

Two further ideas:

--Talk to any buddies on your local newspaper (or local university
school of journalism), who just might have contacts or ideas.

--Find a fellow pilot who's employeded in publishing (or is a major
published author).

But I'm encouraged by the othersupportive responses to my original
suggestion, especially the suggestion that you don't just bury this in
some aviation hobbyist magazine. It could do a lot for GA if it were
read more widely, e.g. a New Yorker like audience.

Jay, Thanks for the encouragement.

Joe Schneider
8437R

"Jay Honeck" wrote in message
news:IL%cc.217135$po.1069404@attbi_s52...
Well you see, there is something else to consider. The Cherokee
has
the ability to transport you BACKWARD in time as well. By flying
low
and slow we could see the evidence our great grandfathers had left
etched in the soil 150 years in the past. It is a time machine
that
provides a spectacular view that even the Great Spirit may be
envious
of.

Great story, Joe. Truer words were never spoken....

Thanks for posting it!
--
Jay Honeck
Iowa City, IA
Pathfinder N56993
www.AlexisParkInn.com
"Your Aviation Destination"