EAA Sport Aviation

LAURAN PAINE, JR.

COMMENTARY / SPIRIT OF AVIATION

I entered a left downwind, landing to the north. Not a soul in the pattern. Land, roll out, turn off the active, taxi to the south end, and park. Roll the canopy back and you get the peace that comes with a light breeze and silence. Nirvana. You just can’t do this in a car.

I got out and walked around the airport, strolled actually. A Luscombe just took off, departed mid-field. Probably why I didn’t see him right away. Tan airplane, gentle roar, gentle liftoff, gentle climb. Across the runway in a row of hangars a hangar door was open; a white pickup parked beside it. Somebody doing something with an airplane. Unspoken joy…unless they just scraped their knuckles while working inside the cowling. But, hey, that’s all part of aviation, too.

I wander the hangars: no people, no traffic, no deadlines…nothing. Don’t we all need that from time to time? As I strolled, the airport’s personality revealed itself. One hangar has a propeller hung high on the front of it and a side door that says “Toys.” Another has a tow bar left in the grass out front, right by a wheel rut left in the soft ground. Probably a story there. Another has a sturdy picnic table with a vise on a block of wood sitting next to it. Probably lots of stories told, friendships cemented, and landings watched at that table. I sat at the table and penned the words you are reading now, pausing to smooth the pages against the light breeze.

I have flown airliners and military
planes for a living and have been to big
airports—and loved it all. But for peace,
contentment, satisfaction, and joy, it’s

pretty hard to beat flying to and being at Lebanon State Airport today. Bottom line: It’s why I love to fly and will always love to fly. You have an airport or two like that, also, don’t you? Hang onto it!

Time to saddle up and fly west to another airport: Corvallis Municipal Airport (CVO), Corvallis, Oregon. It’s one of those big triangle airports, left over from its World War II military training days. There’s no tower but a couple flight schools, so it’s medium-busy. I listen to the automated weather observing system, but the truth usually reveals itself on Common Traffic Advisory Frequency 123.0—winds and published patterns don’t seem to bother some people. There’s one airplane in the pattern…the pilot says she’s landing to the north…one on the 45, one 5 miles north saying he’s going to enter on the downwind, and one 5 miles south saying he’s on a “straight-in.” All righty then… there’s a puzzle to fit into.

I overfly the airport a couple thousand feet above pattern altitude and formulate my plan. I’ve never been one to force myself into the pattern, but rather I fit myself into it. I spot the airplane in the pattern, now turning from downwind to base, and the one on the 45. I decide to roll in behind the one on the 45, leaving enough space for the downwind entry to fit in. That works because I then see him cut across my bow about a mile in front. The straight-in? Don’t know? He’s not talkin’ but I assume he’s still on it. I’ll continue to watch for him and take spacing when I

see him. It occurs to me that if the downwind entry and the straight-in traffic would have just flown the published pattern, things would be a lot simpler…and safer. It’s easier to spot people in the published pattern. Courtesy and procedure are generally better than freelancing your entry while trying to save three minutes in time. End of my lecture.