Continuing to Close the Gap Between Ability and Capability

Normally, this would not be a good thing at a mountain strip with a grass runway almost a mile above sea level on a warm August morning. But then most grass strips aren’t 4,575 feet long and smoother than the majority of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.

The landing was a nonevent, and my Bonanza seemed to be happy to finally touch grass. The Bo is approved for grass and dirt strips, but her pilot has not exercised this capability largely due to trepidation.

Having totaled a Bonanza departing Telluride, Colorado, in 2018, I am still overly cautious when it comes to mountain flying. Unpredictable winds, density altitude, and unforgiving terrain feel like plenty enough to handle. Adding an unimproved surface is just one too many variables for me.

Until last month, that is.

That’s when I met Scott Newpower, who turned me onto the world of backcountry flying through the Recreational Aviation Foundation (RAF), an organization for which Newpower is the Montana liaison. More on that in a bit.

The journey started 10 days earlier in New York, where I departed for Wisconsin. Flying over Lake Michigan is another kind of wilderness flying. The “terrain” is blue and flat but still not an off-field landing I’d like to make. There was a good 15-minute stretch where my Garmin 750TXi let me know we were not in glide range of either shore. As my instructor Neil used to always say to me, “The plane doesn’t know it’s over water.” 

The pilot sure does, though. Here, ability and capability are aligned, but there is still hesitation. This is overcome by fire-walling the throttles, pointing the nose at the sky, and trusting your plane and pilotage.

After a few fun days at EAA AirVenture, I departed for Montana, where a friend met me to begin our adventure. Heading into the mountainous West and its bevy of backcountry strips, you leave behind comfy, sea-level airports with multiple instrument approaches and perfect asphalt. In their place you find grass strips cut into dense forests with idiosyncrasies and cheat codes passed down from pilot to pilot in the oral tradition.

Everything from watching for wildlife that enjoy munching fresh sprouts on the rare watered grass strip to the wind speed and direction that supersede a downhill departure. These are multitudes that can not be contained in the “remarks” section in ForeFlight. This knowledge must be mined from pilots that came before you. A handshake followed by a meal and a long conversation. And, in this case, a flight in the right seat.

I landed long at Seeley Lake Airport (23S) then taxied back to the tie-down area. I had never ever seen a grass strip with a dedicated taxiway, but Seeley’s has one. If you want to acquaint yourself with grass strips, this is the place to do it.

Shutting down, we were met by Newpower and Bob Thorne, both of whom live on the field. It’s hard to parse how much is Montana, how much is RAF, and how much is GA, but the level of hospitality shown to us over the following week was remarkable.

Thorne was a Delta Air Lines pilot for 25 years and now flies a Glasair Sportsman. Newpower worked 25 years as an air traffic controller and flies a V-tail, just like mine, down to the 550B motor.

Thorne and Newpower, along with wives and friends, invited us out to dinner where, over steaks at Lindey’s, Newpower told me about the RAF and its mission to preserve, improve, and create airstrips for recreational access. It has done some amazing things—from saving dying strips to creating brand-new ones on both public and private land.

And while there is no specific mention of pilot mentorship in the RAF mission statement, it’s there if you want it. An organization brimming with tens of thousands of hours of collective wisdom stored in its membership.

Newpower convinced me to go up with him the following morning, and I will admit I was hesitant. To the point where I had an excuse ready when I woke up—a bout with the creamed spinach from the night before. But everyone I asked said this was the person to trust, and I wanted to see what my plane could do in the hands of someone with backcountry ability. 

Letting go of my control issues, I got out of my tent in the morning and walked across the runway, where I met Newpower in front of his hangar home.

On takeoff, he nudged the Bo off the grass and into ground effect, where he accelerated before pulling up and turning out midfield. He explained that a straight-out departure could preclude our returning to the field with an engine out. An early turn away from the field keeps both runways in play if we were to lose the motor. “No turns until 400 feet agl” is so ingrained in me, I hadn’t considered this very practical alternative in a place where noise abatement is a nonissue.

We flew to a few different strips that morning: Meadow Creek (0S1), Schafer (8U2), and the crown jewel of the RAF, Ryan Field (2MT1). None were as easy as Seeley, but all were even more rewarding to visit.

They were also more challenging. In fact, the RAF requires you to read a safety briefing before attempting a landing at Ryan. And for good reason. These strips are demanding in every way.

A few observations: 

The only thing I saw that I did not agree with were Newpower’s engine management choices. He doesn’t ground-lean for taxi nor through climb. He initially leans at 8,000 feet msl. This is something I will not be emulating but allowed for a spirited conversation about lean-of-peak operations, spark plug fouling, and best power settings for climb.

I’ll write more about this trip in an upcoming column, including my return to some of these strips as the PIC in my own airplane the following day. I can tell you they were successful forays, and I am a different pilot than I was prior to this trip.

The gap between ability and capability is beginning to close.

This column first appeared in the November Issue 952 of the FLYING print edition.