Called Home

In the 7th grade, during a Friday morning period in the early fall of 1962, my name was announced over the intercom at North Davis Junior High School summoning me to the office. Searching my memory for what I’d done or, more to the point, what they might’ve discovered that I’d done, I walked the empty halls to the office and announced (in my most innocent demeanor) that I’d been called for.  The office staff member there glanced at me and said simply – “You’ve been called home.  You’re to leave school and go home immediately.”  This was somewhat of a shock to me inasmuch as such a thing had never happened before and I began to worry that something was seriously wrong at home for such an ‘emergency’ to be invoked by mom and dad.  Not knowing that my twin brother Jay had received similar instructions, I left immediately with a sense of dread and urgency quickening my steps past Homer’s Market on State Street and up 500 East toward home.  As I did, I spied my twin brother Jay up ahead near Pullum’s Pond.  Seeing Jay hurrying home furthered my fear of some terrible calamity – was it my mother who’d suffered from marginal health since her youth.  Was it my father who’d suffered an industrial accident several years before and lost half of his left thumb?  Was it one of my siblings?  Our family of six children had not been without its frequent mishaps of broken bones, stitches and illnesses. As my mind wrested with these thoughts, I called out to Jay and began to run to catch up with him.  Inasmuch as he turned, acknowledged my call and resumed his way, I presumed that he knew something dreadful and was hurrying himself, unwilling to wait for me.  I caught up just as we both arrived home.

A Plane Trip!

As we both entered the kitchen through the back door, I observed both my parents calmly sitting at the table.  My fears were still not allayed by their demeanor inasmuch as it was not normal for my father to be at home during the day.  Inasmuch as Jay and I both began questioning why we’d been summoned home during a school day, I quickly surmised that Jay had not been informed any more than I had.  Calming us both, they told us that nothing was wrong and that my dad had requested our release from school for the day.  Apparently there had been some discussion that morning concerning a request on the part of my Uncle Rulon (Uncle Rulon was married to my dad’s younger sister – Shirley) for dad to ferry him throughout several cities in the southern part of the state.  I further learned that Uncle Rulon was campaigning for the office of Representative in the southern district of the State of Utah.  That morning’s discussion had included the proposal that Aunt Shirley and my mother accompany my father and Uncle Rulon on this brief trip of a ‘coupla days’.  Although it had not been entirely settled by the time Jay and I arrived home, dad had thought that in the event ‘the wives’ were unable to make the trip, ‘the twins’ would fill up the rear seat of the plane nicely!  Plane!? It was to be a plane trip!?  I was immediately excited at the prospect of a plane trip inasmuch as I’d never been in an airplane!  All fears of dread and the mild anger that I’d felt at the seeming inconsideration on the part of ‘the adults’ at having put me through a dreadful scamper home vanished as I considered the possibility of an extended trip with my Uncle Rulon and my dad.  Boy, this is one of the few times being a twin had paid off!

Dad and Uncle Rulon

Though I did not know my Uncle Rulon as well as I did some of my father’s brothers who’d had the occasion to work with dad (and his youthful crew of sons – Hugh, me, Jay & Rick) on his survey crew, I’d had numerous opportunities to observe my Uncle Rulon at family gatherings over the years.  Uncle Rulon was a gregarious personality.  Always pleasant to me, my siblings and cousins; he was often larger than life itself and could be intimidating to a young boy such as myself.  His booming voice could be heard even from a distance, when he was amused, and contributing his own sense of humor to a story.  He was often ready with a quip or an anecdote when the occasion called for it.  Though family occasions seldom offered the opportunity to display one’s advanced understanding, I could observe Uncle Rulon’s veiled depth and, on occasion, detected a humble, hidden intellect secreted from the group to preserve a congenial balance.  The chance to have an extended excursion with Uncle Rulon was icing on the cake.  And while I got to be around my dad frequently in my survey ‘crew’ opportunities, I was insufficiently wise to capitalize on such occasions and observe him carefully, gleaning understanding from his considerable experience and understanding.  Like any 12 year old, I too, took my father for granted.  A chance to be with both these wonderful men and have to share them with only one other brother would be a true treat!  I was enthralled with the idea, and anticipation coursed like invigorating light through my veins with the hope of unparalleled opportunity!

Final Decision

As such excitement welled up within me, I was reminded that mom and Aunt Shirley hadn’t made up their minds completely and my opportunity had not, as yet, fully materialized!  Over the next half hour or so, I waited, listened and watched; hoping with a twinge of guilt that mom and Aunt Shirley would choose to stay home and relinquish their seats to me and Jay.  I knew that mom & Aunt Shirley deserved a ‘break’ more than Jay or I; and, I knew that demonstrating my excitement would have an influence on a tender mother’s heart strings.  Thankfully, I constrained myself at exhibiting my desire to go so as not to unduly invoke a mother’s innate guilt at ‘depriving’ her son(s) of such an exciting experience.  As the mother’s deliberations continued, they both decided independently that they could not go and leave their respective families for an extended time period with such short notice.  They, the mothers, would stay home and the seats were proffered to me and Jay.  We both eagerly accepted, no longer able to hide our elation at such an opportunity!  Though my mother and aunt offered the opportunity to us willingly; and though neither would ever display their disappointment at having to default on an exciting trip with their husbands; that twinge of guilt at our capitalizing on their loss - from such deserving and devoted mothers - has remained with me to this day.  A lesson learned.

Flying!

The decision having been made, mom helped Jay and I quickly packed an overnight bag.  We climbed in the car with Dad and we were off to the Ogden airport where we would meet up with Uncle Rulon.  Following what seemed to be a very long 45 minutes or so, arrangements were completed with a plane rental, and we all boarded the Piper Cherokee 150 plane that was to be our conveyance for the trip.  Inasmuch as I’d never been in any type of airplane, I was overwhelmed by all the instruments, procedures and checklists required to even begin the flight.  Following the taxi to the end of the runway, the completion of the checklist and the run up of the engine, we were approved for takeoff.  We took off and began a slow turn over the cities of Roy and Sunset as we began our sojourn to Southern Utah and our first destination – Kanab.  Inasmuch as the interstate system had not been completed at that time, travel of any real significance by automobile was often arduous and time consuming as travel over the highway often was punctuated with stop signs and traffic lights.  Hence, I’d had little experience with geography beyond fishing excursions in the Wasatch and Uinta mountains.  Geography beyond Salt Lake City was relatively foreign to me and as the geography passed beneath us, I was pretty much captivated by the sights, sounds and feelings of my first experience with three-dimensional transportation.   When my eyes weren’t glued to my window observing the sights as we followed the highway toward southern Utah, I was quickly checking the activities taking place within the cabin.  Jay was as glued to his window as I was to mine.  We exchanged excited acknowledgments briefly as we observed different geographies from our separate sides of the plane.

Utah Lake

As we made our way over Utah Lake I became aware of dad’s more active manipulation of the flight controls.  Knowing so very little about piloting an aircraft, I merely observed as he conversed in a slightly more pressing manner with Uncle Rulon, adjusting the various instruments as he did.  Observing that we were gradually dropping closer to the lake, however, I figured it was just a decision that had been made from the front seat for some reason I was not aware of.  (Later, as we spent the evening in Kanab I would learn that we’d experienced a downdraft and that dad had been adjusting the attitude of the plane to recover the loss of several thousand feet over Utah Lake.  Taking the queue from dad’s explanation I discerned that; while not life threatening, the circumstance had certainly been tenuous.)

Righteous Men

I’d always known that dad had been a pilot during the Second World War.  I’d seen the pictures of him standing near C47 transport aircraft and other aircraft he’d flown in his training to become a Pilot in the Army Air Corp.  Now, however, as I observed his commanding presence in piloting the aircraft on our way southward; the reality of my father’s experiences and achievements, prior to my entrance to the family, came into full and poignant view.  Though I could not easily make out his communications with the air traffic personnel, nor could I hear clearly the exchanges he made with Uncle Rulon in the co-pilots seat, I detected the respect Uncle Rulon had as he listened to dad’s instructions and observations.  I observed, perhaps for the first time, my father through maturing eyes.  Beyond the obscuring view of simplistic childhood spectacles, I was now observing a broader, deeper reality of my own father.  I was receiving a vision of his talents and abilities well beyond that of the mere ‘bread winner’ and ‘disciplinary support’ that I’d naturally inherited from my mother since infancy.  Loosing the myopic limits of my childhood perceptions, I was now discerning the deeper, broader, immensely more complex person that was my father (and my uncle for that matter).  And more importantly I was doing it for myself.  Bursting onto my youthful consciousness, the lines of their faces began to reveal the depth of their skills, their joys, their sorrows, their achievements, and their burdens.  Into view came the camaraderie shared by two patriarchs who’d traversed a significant measure of life’s demanding sojourn and successfully weathered its upheavals and turmoil with courage and fortitude.  These two men - men who’d endured stern, relentless challenge and threatening circumstance, were sharing their mutual joy with each other in a way that only those who’d traversed such tempestuous ground could.  Each, having survived thus far (Dad – World War II and Uncle Rulon – The Korean Conflict), was sharing the exuberance of life’s reward within the context of a present, commonly shared adventure.  Having been blessed to observe these two great men in their majestic, masculine, patriarchal splendor; I was introduced to a deeper broader world than I’d previously known.  And having merely tasted of such, I knew I wanted a similar merit for myself.  Having only perceived briefly the magnificence of these two men as we winged our way southward, I recognized a stirring within my own soul to seek similarly undeniable, intangible assets within my own life!  I wanted to be a man like these men already were.   Later in life I would realize that these two gallant, outwardly humble men were equally relishing the sharing of such delight with those of the next generation – me and my brother. We were all blessed that day, within the cabin of a Piper Cherokee over the mountains, canyons and valleys of southern Utah.

Kanab

Upon arriving at Kanab, we landed without incident and securing transportation, arrived at the motel where we would spend the night.  As indicated earlier, Uncle Rulon was engaged in a campaign for election to the House of Representatives – the purpose for our trip; and he went about the business of meeting with personnel associated with his campaign. The rest of us - Jay, dad and I, proceeded to a residential neighborhood where we distributed campaign pamphlets from door-to-door.  Jay would take one side of the street and I the other.  We’d cover one street, meeting dad at the end where he’d provide us with more pamphlets. We’d all then move to the next street to repeat the process.  Having arrived in Kanab in the early evening, we were only afforded an hour or so of this before the demands of the next day warranted our return to the motel and an uneventful night’s rest.  Upon rising the next morning, we caught a quick breakfast and made our way to the airport early.  Taking off in the early morning with the sun just rising I was taken with the beauty of the area.  This euphoria was undoubtedly enhanced by the carefree anticipation of the day’s ‘puddle jumping’ planned throughout southern Utah’s hamlets.  We quickly circled Kanab, gaining altitude, before leaving; and I vividly remember observing a roof top sign with the city’s name, Kanab, in large red letters on a red tiled roof.  I remember thinking it odd that a sign identifying a city would be located on a roof, facing upward, where few could/would see it!  As we completed our circling, we headed north to Panguitch – our next stop, approximately 70 miles and about 40 minutes away!

Panguitch

Panguitch is the county seat of Garfield County in the state of Utah and, as such, was important to Uncle Rulon’s campaign.  In the 1960 census Panguitch had a population of only 1435.  Nevertheless, it was one of the more influential locations within the sparsely population 2nd congressional district.  Hence, it was important that we make contact with the people Uncle Rulon had arranged to meet with that day.  At an elevation of 6600 feet, the trip had been a gentle climb from Kanab at about 5000 feet.  As we arrived over Panguitch however, we were unable to readily locate the local airport.  As we circled over the town, it became apparent that Panguitch did not have a municipal airport.  Furthermore, the nearest municipal airport of any kind would be quite some distance away inasmuch as Panguitch is a rather isolated town - even to this day.  To land at the nearest municipal airport in Cedar City would have been several hours away by car and rendered Uncle Rulon’s itinerary for the day (and the trip) of no value.  With the day’s clock ticking, Uncle Rulon and dad deliberated on what to do; all the while searching for some kind of landing strip.  (As a glider pilot myself, I am now much more aware than then that the countryside it frequently dotted with various private landing strips and fields.)  As the situation was beginning to look hopeless, they discovered what appeared to be a landing strip near the town that had undoubtedly been maintained for private aircraft intent on landing at Panguitch.  We circled this field several times, assessing its suitability for landing and reviewing aerial maps of the locale.  As I observed these developments, I was silently nervous about such unconventional actions.  Nevertheless, trusting that these two men knew what they were doing; and, trusting that they were exercising due caution in their deliberations; and, recognizing that I had little (if any) recourse as a boy sitting as a passenger in the back seat, I tightened my seat belt, summoned up what courage I had, and prepared to land as dad announced to the back seat that we were about to land in the field.  I must also confess that along with the anxiety of an unconventional landing came an excitement that inherently accompanies the adventure of unconventional activity.  As I viewed it, this already adventurous trip was about to get even more adventurous!

The field

From the air, the landing strip appeared to be a strip of land about the width of a private aircraft that was located in the middle of what appeared to have been an alfalfa crop earlier in the season.  The landing strip itself appeared to be that portion of the field that had merely been mown closer and was therefore distinguishable as a landing strip.  All other indications such as landing lights, pavement, striping, etc. were non-existent.  For all intents and purposes, the landing strip was a portion of a farmer’s field that had been mown shorter to allow private aircraft to visit Panguitch.  I remember a portion of the discussion being devoted to whether the ‘landing strip’ was in fact merely a farmer’s field.  The field was located a short distance from the houses of the town and it sloped gradually upward from one end to the other. The field was surrounded by the appurtenances that normally are found around agricultural fields.  There was a barbed wire fence that defined its boundaries.  At the lower end of the field a road with irrigation ditches on either side was evident.  A string of telephone poles supporting communications wire paralleled that road.  Inasmuch as our visit was late in the fall, the crop had been harvested and had been left to dry and wither as winter approached.  None of the field had as yet been tilled since its harvesting.  Although the slope of the field left the strip somewhat wanting, it was nevertheless smooth (or at least as smooth as a field can be made).  The figure on the previous page provides an aerial view of where the field would be located in present day Panguitch.

Landing

As we made our final approach and neared the ground I remember wondering just how the next few minutes would unfold.  To my relief (and surprise) the landing took place almost normally.  As we touched down the plane proceeded up the field normally and, due to the upward sloping ‘runway’, the plane slowed quickly and we came to a stop near the upper end of the runway.  Dad turned the plane away from the ‘runway’ partially into the alfalfa and halted.  The landing that had caused us to deliberate for quite some time had gone off without a hitch!  As we deplaned a vehicle came up the field and the man Uncle Rulon had anticipated meeting with emerged.  Following a brief discussion wherein it was confirmed that, indeed, this was Panguitch’s only air ‘field’, we were transported into town to conduct the campaign business Uncle Rulon had come to perform.  I should note here that as we left the field there was parenthetical discussion regarding the condition of the airstrip as we traversed the runway.  Dad mentioned that, as we touched down, he’d discovered the ground of the runway itself to be rather ‘loose’ and ‘loamy’ – a sort of ‘soft dirt’.  A condition he’d not been able to detect from the air prior to landing.  He indicated that he’d need to take this factor into account when we returned to take off.  Though his concern was veiled, I detected a hint of nervousness in his voice.  Knowing so little about flying however, none of us rendered this as nothing more than a parameter he, the pilot, would need to compensate for when we resumed our ‘puddle jumping’ in a few hours.  Inasmuch as nothing could be done until that time, I suspect Dad mentally set the matter aside and focused, as we all did, on more immediate activities as we entered the town of Panguitch.

Country Store

While Uncle Rulon met with those of Garfield County he’d come to see, Dad, Jay and I waited in a general store that one of the attendees owned and operated.  Dad explained that we didn’t expect to spend very much time in Panguitch and that passing out campaign pamphlets, as we did in Kanab the evening before, would accomplish little.  It was more important that we be readily available to leave for the airfield when the campaign meeting was concluded.  I must confess that I don’t remember much about Panguitch itself.  While such a lapse of detail may be due to a prominence of the trip’s other events in my mind’s long term memory, I suspect that the real reason is that not much of Panguitch in 1962 was all that memorable to a 12 year old boy who’d experienced more adventure in the past 24 hours than he’d experienced in his life.  There were several things, however, unique to that general store where we waited, that’ve stuck in my mind all these years.  While the store was general in the manner of items it provided, it was heavily skewed toward those items farmers and/or ranchers might need.  It did not appear to be all that clean in its appearance nor its orderliness.  I remember a half a dozen fly strips hanging throughout this relatively small store.  It was not much larger than what one experiences commonly in 7-11 or other stop-n-go convenience stores.  This fact made the fly strips seem concentrated in a relatively small space.  The more distinguishing element, however, was the incredible concentration of dead flies on each of these strips.  Perhaps the strips had not been replaced in quite some time or there was a high concentration of flies to this store.  Regardless, the fly strips, absolutely covered with dead flies, left an impression of disgust on my mind that remains.  In addition to this offense on the senses, a pile of sisal rope had somehow become fouled and was generating the most pungent aroma I’d ever experienced from a non-living thing.  The smell only extended from the rope a few yards.  Nevertheless, the compactness of the store left few places to stand and/or sit where the aroma did not extend to.  I found a location near the door (just adjacent to one of the fly strips) where the smell was less overpowering.  But because I’d wandered throughout the store upon arrival, I was distinctly aware of the source of the stench and had set up position as close to some source of fresh air as I could.  Finally, I remember an old fashioned pickle barrel near the counter where patrons could reach through a sizable hole in the open top, select their cured cucumber from the brine and wrap it in a paper towel for purchase.  I remember this because it was unique in my experience and an indicator of the character of the establishment we waited in.  Although it seemed like an inordinately long time that we waited for Uncle Rulon to complete his business, I suspect it was only and hour or two. Upon conclusion of his meeting, Uncle Rulon re-emerged and we were all transported back to the airfield by the same fellow that had met us there upon landing.

Preflight

Inasmuch as dad’s earlier concern about the condition of the runway was now at hand, dad explained his plan to compensate, as he completed the take-off checklist and the plane’s engine was ‘run up’ at the high end of the field. Uncle Rulon was to hold the plane via the hand brake located between the two front seats until dad indicated a release.  At such time, the plane could then accelerate with the full power of the engine from the very outset of our take off.  We were to take off from the high side of the field for one primary reason; a ridge rose not far from the end of the field on the high side and posed an obvious threat should the plane be unable to gain altitude immediately after takeoff.  And while the wind, though light, was with us upon take off, (another non-standard take off condition); the specter of the ridge and its obvious threat overrode a takeoff from the opposite direction.  As the engine revved and Uncle Rulon strained on the brake, I was struck again by the adventurousness of our trip thus far.  Simultaneously, the nervousness of another unconventional experience welled up within me; and, I reminded myself that these adults, who appeared calm and in control, had taken care of us thus far.  I promptly concluded, once again, that I had little recourse; and, mentally assigned myself to our immediate circumstance and its soon to be experienced outcome.

Take Off

As I concluded these mental deliberations, dad revved the engine until the whole plane vibrated.  Upon his signal, Uncle Rulon released the brake and the plane accelerated quickly.  I remember watching the dandelions whisking by as I watched from my window.  As we reached the mid-point of the field dad began to show signs of impending emergency as he began to rapidly adjust controls within the cockpit.  All the while, the plane sped toward the end of the field, the end of the runway, the road, the telephone lines, the ditches and our collective doom.  As dad continued to adjust controls, he expressed his alarm by stating that we were not achieving sufficient airspeed to ‘rotate’.  He shouted over the din of the engine that the ‘softness’ of the ground was ‘holding our wheels back’.  As these seconds unfolded I remember growing alarmed and fearful at the outcome that had been only a mild concern moments earlier.  I did not know what ‘rotate’ meant at the time.  I only knew the alarm that I was hearing in my father’s voice as the plane rushed forward.  The sight of the manmade obstacles at the end of the runway now loomed in the eyes of all aboard.  I later learned that all planes have an airspeed at which they can ‘rotate’ upon their lateral axis, configuring their wing into the oncoming air, and begin to fly.  Within a second or two of dad’s exclamation; and, recognizing that all other options had since passed by, dad rotated the plane anyway and the plane rose into the air.  I remember looking out my window as we rose above the earth.  Ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet, forty feet – it appeared that, despite the alarm, the take off was proceeding ok!  Just at this moment an alarm within the cockpit began to blare loudly!  Simultaneously dad called out – we’re stalling!  With that my adrenaline kicked into high gear and time slowed as I observed what I felt might be the final moments of my life!  I quickly glanced at Jay in the seat beside me.  His eyes were as wide as quarters, and he appeared to be every bit as alarmed as I was.  I strained to look into the cockpit and through the front windshield.  As I did, I felt the plane’s nose begin to rise as the tail began to drop.  We were beginning to ‘pancake’ against the air, rather than slice through it!

Forced Landing

The next 5 or six seconds were a blur.  Quickly dad pressed the ‘yoke’ forward as the stall warning alarm continued to scream.  From my window I watched the road and telephones pass beneath us.  Still there wasn’t time to breathe a sigh of relief at having avoided certain disaster.  The plane felt ‘mushy’ as the wing surfaces struggled to capture the air over its surface and cling to it for control.  The plane swayed lazily from side to side as dad lowered the nose further – the stall warning still wailing in our ears.  Fully engulfed in concentrated effort, dad did not need to announce what we could all now observe for ourselves.  We were all silent for a second or two while bracing for what we all recognized was our immediate fate.  We were coming down on the other side of the road into a field of waist high sage brush! Dad continued to maintain what control was available as he wrestled with the plane.  The rest of us gripped whatever was available and hung on for dear life!  Would it be a ‘hard’ landing?  Would it be a controlled landing?  Would we ‘walk away’ from this one?  The ground rushed up to meet us as the last few feet of altitude vanished.   Dad attempted to ‘flair’ the wing, but we touched down with a disturbing, jolting, grateful bang - Terra Firma.

Sage Brush

Uncertain of the conditions of this field, (or our plane for that matter), it was evident to all that the outcome of this ‘forced landing’ was still unfolding.  Though the sage brush was waist high, it wasn’t consistently thick throughout the field.  As we now hurtled through intermittently thick patches of sage brush, our low wing rattled with the constant collision of brush with its forward edge.  Clipping the tops of the brush like a lawn mower, it made a distinctly frightening sound as variously thick branches slammed against the metal wing.  Frightening because it was uncertain to us all as to what unseen large obstacle might prove too solid for the wing and sever it, spilling liquid fire as we now rocketed down an unknown field with unknown obstacles.  Coincident with this commotion was the intermittent throttled sound of the engine as it propeller chewed through the sage it was also encountering.  I’ve since envisioned a plane mowing a path through thick lawn, throwing clippings in all directions as it went.

Roll Out

Now that we were back on the ground our problem had morphed into one of kinetic energy – our speed.    As dad had struggled, only moments earlier, to configure the plane into efficient flying status; our airspeed had significantly improved, thereby allowing the plane to continue flying as he brought about the forced landing in the sage field.  This airspeed - that had been critical for takeoff and rendered unavailable by the ‘soft runway’; that had been life sustaining as it improved while we flew over the telephone lines and road; that had provided the necessary control to thwart a catastrophic crash landing; this same airspeed – was now driving us forward as dad grappled with the controls to maintain a safe ‘roll out’ and bring us to a stop.  While the field had been somewhat level in the location where we’d touched down, it did not continue so.  We abruptly passed over a fence that providence had seen fit to be in disrepair and laying on the ground.  As we continued, the plane went over a shallow lip that led down several hundred feet into a shallow wash that was less over grown than that we’d just come through.  At the top of the other side of this wash however was a barbed wire fence that was still intact.  Having bled off much of our speed to this point it was doubtful that we could pass through the fence unscathed.  At this point, dad engaged one of the brakes and the plane began to turn, skidding sideways for several yards before halting its forward motion. The remaining inertia bled quickly away as the plane slowly turned (as if taxiing) to a position facing almost 180 degrees from the direction we’d landed in.  We were stopped!  The entire event, from beginning to end, had taken maybe 50 seconds!

Plane Damage?

Having halted, dad continued to shut down the engine and controls while the rest of us quickly exited the plane and scattered in several directions away from the plane.  I remember watching anxiously as dad finished with the shut down and finally exited the plane himself.  For several minutes we all just stood their watching the plane to see if it was alright.  Dad and Uncle Rulon immediately joined in discussion about the plane while Jay and I slowly migrated toward them remaining at a distance from the plane itself.  As we stood there watching the plane, we gradually began to realize that it, along with ourselves, had just survived a harrowing experience with no apparent injury!  As the man that had transported us to the airfield came screeching to a halt on the nearby highway, we realized that we’d come to a halt only 20 yards or so from the highway.  He jumped out of his vehicle and shouted out to see if we were all ok – to which Uncle Rulon replied that we were all ok, just a little ‘shook up’!  As he jumped the fence and joined us in the field he exclaimed that he’d observed our aborted take off and only lost sight of the plane as it disappeared over the lip into the wash.  As he explained further, he had expected to see a fireball as he watched the plane touch down in the sage and disappear into the wash.  As we stood, sharing our different perspectives of what had just taken place, the adrenalin in all of us began to dissipate.  Wide eyed, excited exclamations calmed into sighs of relief and nervous laughter at having come through such an event intact.  While thus engaged, highway traffic began to gather by the side of the road as travelers stopped to investigate what had undoubtedly been some kind of airplane mishap.  It’s not everyday one see’s a private plane standing on its own in a field by the side of the highway!  Inasmuch as the season was late fall, deer hunting season was in full swing and this being a Saturday, many of the passersby were deer hunters.  This was certainly an interesting diversion during the mid-afternoon of a day’s hunting.  As the crowd began to swell, it became evident that something needed to be done to rectify the present circumstance.  Dad began to inspect the plane for any damage enlisting all our eyes to search for any little thing that looks like it might be ‘out of place’.  As the inspection persisted, it became evident that there had been virtually no damage to the plane – save a bent pitot tube used to measure airspeed.  Located on the underside of the left wing, it had undoubtedly caught on numerous sage branches.  To our amazement, it had not been torn from the wing.  Rather, it had bent backward and remained attached with not apparent damage other than a bend in the tube.  Dad grabbed it, bent it back to its proper position, blew in it to verify it was not clogged and confirmed that it registered on the control panel.  He then declared that the plane was undamaged.  With that, dad climbed into the plane and proceeded to check the controls and rev the engine in order to confirm its condition.  As he throttled the engine up, the sage brush flapped wildly in the backwash.  As he throttled back the engine and turned it off, dad emerged from the plane and pronounced the plane fit for flight!

Takeoff Plans

During all of this inspection and verification, I’d assumed that our efforts were designed to assure there was no damage to a rented plane and that our exposure to financial responsibility was minimized.  However, as dad pronounced the plane fit for flight, it became readily apparent that he and Uncle Rulon intended to taxi it onto the highway.  Uncle Rulon had borrowed some wire clippers from a passerby and was already clipping the barbed wire on the fence by the side of the highway.  Several of us gathered around the obstructing fence posts and wriggled them from their holes, leaving sufficient space with which to taxi the plane through.  Dad piloted the plane over to the fence break, through the hole, and revved the engine to bring the plane up the slight embankment (with the help of men pushing on the wing) and onto the highway.  Even then, I assumed that we were merely extracting the plane from a farmer’s field in order to return it to town somewhere so that the authorities (whoever that might be) would be able to take whatever action must’ve been required by such a circumstance.  I (nor Jay) had no idea what dad and Uncle Rulon had actually decided to do.  However, the time had come and dad explained that he intended to take the plane off from the highway!  We’d continue our trip with the plane we’d come with.  I remember being absolutely dumbfounded at such a plan.  I’d just come through what I considered a very serious mishap and my father was now suggesting that it was not worthy of pause for reflection and/or reconsideration.  As I considered his (and Uncle Rulon’s) plan, I realized that they were not suggesting this plan.  It readily became apparent that they’d arrived at an expectation that I was not certain I could fulfill.  While I honestly don’t remember one word of our discussion, I remember Jay and I very briefly commiserating our circumstance, as dad and Uncle Rulon arranged for traffic control with some of the remaining observers.  The highway traffic was to be held at either end of a straight stretch while taxied to one end and took off.  While Jay and I had shared similar doubts, concerning our safety, and the now tarnished trust we’d both had in our adult leaders - there was simply insufficient time to deliberate further.  Any solidarity we might’ve been able to muster was undermined by the immediate need to proceed with the plan.  The traffic could not be held indefinitely!  It was expedient that the plan to take off from the highway be executed immediately!  I’ll never forget, as Jay and I stood there behind the wing where one steps to enter the cockpit and my father saying, “Into the plane boys.”  At that very moment, I was sorely tempted to disobey my father citing my own safety as justification for such disobedience.  However, simultaneously, I was reminded that my father loved his sons and was not in any way inclined to put them in any real danger.  Finally, the question of whether or not mom would even come and get me were I to refuse re-boarding flashed a twinge of doubt into this scramble of swirling thoughts and emotions!   As these three thoughts passed through my mind, my feet voted; and, I climbed aboard – once again in the back seat away from the door side of the plane, behind the pilot seat.  I was now much more attentive to the cinching of my seat belt than ever before!

Highway/Runway

As we all climbed into our seats and dad began to go through the takeoff checklist, it became more and more apparent that we’d need to proceed quickly, inasmuch as we’d obstructed traffic on the only thoroughfare through the county for several minutes already (prior to boarding the plane).  We still needed to taxi to our takeoff point and actually take off – a process requiring at least 10 - 15 minutes more.  As we taxied down the highway, dad and Uncle Rulon went through the checklist.  All this while, I could hear dad comment to Uncle Rulon on various elements of the highway (now runway) that would need to be accounted for as we made our takeoff in the next few minutes. I, at dad’s observation, made particular note of the telephone lines on either side of the highway.  One set was within a few yards of the pavement on the airfield side.  (While it hadn’t been more than 45 minutes since we’d made our ‘takeoff’ from that airfield, I looked with some longing on it as we passed it by on our way down the highway.  Had it really been less than an hour since our lives had felt dramatically less threatened?  Time does truly pass quickly with the heightening of one’s adrenalin!) The other set (of telephone lines) was about 50 feet from the pavement on the other side of the highway.  As many may know, a standard runway provides ample latitude (as well as length) for a plane’s takeoff run.  Our 2 lane country highway, while adequately paved, was considerably more narrow that a standard runway.  The telephones paralleling this makeshift runway represented a danger that was significant and certainly foreboding in my eyes.  I knew enough about flying to know that any kind of entanglement with lines was almost certain disaster and likely death for a plane and its passengers.  The close proximity of the one telephone line, inasmuch as it was on my side of the plane and immediately viewable throughout the takeoff, was particularly frightening to me.  And, if this was not enough to render this new chapter of an already adventurous trip enough; we observed that a single telephone line periodically crossed the highway between these two sets of lines!  It would now be necessary to not only avoid the telephone lines on either side of the ‘runway’; but, also to avoid the lines that crossed the highway.  Dad determined that he’d need to take off at a particular spot along the highway and climb quickly (something the under powered Piper Cherokee was not particularly good at, especially at this elevation), as if through an imaginary window, to avoid intersecting the crossing telephone lines and our collective doom.  Finally, inasmuch as the ‘window’ was relatively near to the end of the section of highway that was straight, it would be necessary to extend our takeoff point to a location beyond a bend in the highway.

A Bend in the Runway

Some explanation is warranted at this point for those readers that may not be familiar with the operation of aircraft.  While a relatively gradual bend in a road is little, if any, concern for an automobile; it is of great concern for an aircraft.  Aircraft, while graceful in the air, are often lumbering and graceless on the ground.  Due to their minimal ability to navigate on the ground, turns of any significance are often negotiated very slowly and very deliberately.  Turns - at any significant speed, while on the ground - are hazardous to aircraft and strictly avoided.  Should the centrifugal force of a turn cause a wing to dip significantly while rounding a turn, it might strike the ground.  If it strikes the ground, it could be torn from the plane resulting in catastrophe as highly flammable fuel is flung in all directions.  This cloud of oxygenated fuel would surround the remaining debris as it tumbled through its course - colliding, sparking, and igniting until it came to a halt.   If the wing was not torn from its root, the centrifugal force of the plane itself could invoke what is called a ‘ground loop’, wherein the plane responds to this partial collision with an immovable object (the earth) and somersaults along its path tearing at twisting itself to pieces until its forward inertia is spent.  Turns of any significance at any significant speed while on the ground are a serious matter for a fixed wing aircraft!  This danger is magnified even further when the plane is a low wing aircraft such as the Piper Cherokee! 

Prayer

With this understanding in mind, it was nevertheless necessary, to taxi around the bend in the highway to a point just prior to a second bend; and, pivot the plane around in preparation for our next takeoff attempt.  With the checklist completed, and a brief review of our takeoff requirements verbalized; Uncle Rulon suggested we take a moment to pray for our safety.  In all our anxiety and attentiveness to immediate matters, none had thought to ask for divine assistance.  Dad suggested Uncle Rulon offer the prayer in our behalf.  (I’m confident dad, as our pilot, had hundreds of things swimming in his head as distractions to his own silent petition for skill and providence.)  With that, we all bowed our heads and Uncle Rulon offered up sincere, heartfelt supplication on all our behalf - that Jay’s and my young lives might be preserved to fulfill our mortal mission(s); that he might be preserved to fulfill his desires and responsibilities to his wife and children; that my dad might be preserved to fulfill the same to his wife and children.  Though short, a more sincere supplication, accompanied by the silent, earnest solicitation of all its listeners, has seldom been dispatched toward heaven!  Not knowing how any of us would fare the next few minutes, we were genuinely united in our entreaty to God for our combined preservation.

Highway Takeoff

Given our circumstances, we were as ready as we could be.  There was no need to hold the brake as had been done before.  The plane could only accelerate to a speed that it could safely negotiate the bend in the road immediately ahead.  At that point (and no sooner, if we were to avoid catastrophe) would the engine be throttled forward completely.  Then, hopefully, the plane would accelerate quickly enough to achieve ‘rotate speed’ in time to ascend through the invisible window betwixt crossing/paralleling telephone lines.  There was little, if any, margin for error.  As the plane approached the bend, I remember feeling very nervous as the plane was going faster than what I considered safe.  The wheels screeched and the plane leaned on its wheels as we continued around that bend.  Dad shifted his weight back and forth in the pilot’s seat as he wrestled with the foot pedals, keeping the plane at the threshold of safety, while pressing forward to begin the straight away at a maximum initial airspeed.  As we left the bend I was struck by what little speed we had for such a long bend.  There was not time for reflection however.  Dad was throttling the plane forward with all it had.  All eyes watched for the lead line crossing the highway – marking the edge of the ‘window’.  As we gained speed I switched my eyes back and forth between the windshield ahead (searching with everyone else for the crossing line) and my side window where I fretted over the telephone lines dangerously paralleling our path.  Dad was calmly calling out his observations as we progressed.  By this we all would know what was happening and how our planned takeoff was proceeding.  Upon reflection, it must’ve taken a great deal of concentration - to observe (outside the plane and inside the cockpit) as he did, call out to the rest of us as he did, negotiate the plane directly down the center of that narrow highway as he did, identify the ‘window’ as he did, and rotate the plane as he did; in order to pilot our plane into the air, past the telephone lines, and over the observers still blocking traffic at the end of the straightaway – as he did!  As we all realized together that we’d risen above the danger, as collective breath was released from each set of lungs.  This moment was followed by relief and elation at having extracted ourselves from a tenuous circumstance unscathed and “no worse for wear”.  As dad continued to inspect the controls carefully, our moment of exultation morphed into a watchful scrutiny as we were reminded of what the plane had just been through.  Dad, as pilot, displayed a trained, disciplined demeanor as he continually monitored the condition of the plane he’d just rescued from a mown field of waist high sage brush.  Within two or three minutes of uneventful flying, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he set course for Loa – our next designated ‘puddle jump’!

Airspeed

As the adrenalin gradually subsided, we began to settle into our 45-minute flight to Loa.  About 20 minutes into the flight however, dad (hesitant to give us further cause for concern) quietly announced that our airspeed indicator was not working properly.  Knowing little to nothing about piloting an aircraft, I did not immediately register alarm – nor did Uncle Rulon or Jay.  Obviously, we were not in any real danger I surmised – we were in flight!  With all that had just taken place, was dad just being paranoid?  As Uncle Rulon responded with a questioned look, dad explained that the airspeed of the plane was vital to flying the plane properly.  Without it a pilot could make serious errors in judgment, especially upon landing!  Dad indicated that nothing could be done about it now and that he’d just have to fly the plane “by the seat of my pants”!  The remaining 20 minutes held a measure of dread as we neared Loa and the test of dad’s piloting skills as he landed the small plane without the aid of an airspeed indicator.  Again, to those not familiar with flying, the airspeed is vital in assuring the plane is not going too slow as it approaches the ground during a landing maneuver.  Such could cause a ‘stall’ and being near the ground (as landings are want to be) there’d be no time to correct the error.  The plane would plummet to the ground resulting in disaster.  Conversely one might think to error on the side of excess speed and therefore avoid a stall altogether.  Such would be logical were it not that the airfields we were visiting were small, with short runways.  Any excessive speed invoked by a ‘hot’ landing speed would need to be compensated for by a longer rollout – something the shorter runways did not afford us.  Hence, dad would be required to assess “by the seat of his pants” our airspeed as we landed at Loa – operating along that ‘razor edge’ between stalling and shooting the runway’s end - in order to affect a ‘safe’ landing.  As we began to prepare for landing as we passed over the farm fields surrounding the airport, I began to resign myself to whatever was to be.  I’d spent much of my anxiety during the past several hours and now was half willing to accept whatever was to be my fate.  My young capacity to weather the adrenalin rushes that accompanied such anxieties had worn me down.  I quietly almost half disinterested watched as dad maneuvered the plane skillfully onto the paved runway and taxied it to the single steel frame hangar at the far end of the field.  In retrospect, I’m grateful that both these men had weathered much more threatening circumstances prior to these and were, consequently, able to handle the accompanying challenges in stride.  Later I was to learn that dad had experience many, many challenging circumstances while flying multiple times per day during the Second World War as a transport pilot.  Uncle Rulon had led many men through many ferocious battles as an infantry officer during the Korean conflict.  What were frightening, withering events in my young mind - were mere mishaps and obstacles in the minds of these seasoned veterans of foreign theaters of war.

Fueling in Loa

Upon landing in Loa, it became apparent that the opportunity to meet with the official Uncle Rulon had planned for had passed.  Our delay in Panguitch had put us significantly behind schedule and we needn’t remain in Loa beyond the time to refuel and continue on home to Ogden.  As Uncle Rulon was rescheduling appointments with those in Loa, dad was investigating the malfunctioning airspeed mechanism.  As he analyzed the situation he realized that bending the pitot tube in Panguitch as he did had put a crimp in the tube and insufficient air was able to pass through to the instrument panel and the indicator there.  He massaged the relatively soft metal of the tube to open a freer passage of air by working a small pencil sized metal rod into the pitot.  Upon further testing and retesting the airspeed indicator was repaired and its proper functioning confirmed.  We could proceed on our way unfettered by any further equipment failures.  As we concluded with this, Uncle Rulon returned from his affairs and announced that there was almost no fuel with which to refuel the plane.  (They’d discussed the need to refuel as we approached the Loa airport prior to landing.)  What could possibly go wrong now, I thought to myself.  They discussed the matter and dad reaffirmed our need for fuel to even make our way to the nearest airfield of any size sufficient to carry airplane fuel.  With this, both men began to scratch their heads and offer suggestions on where fuel might be obtained.  As they discussed the matter (and my own hope faded), the only other man at the airport (he’d come to converse with Uncle Rulon about campaign matters) approached and suggested a rancher in a nearby town might have some fuel.  Apparently he maintained an amount for his aircraft at this ranch.  With that Uncle Rulon climbed into his vehicle and they sped off in search of any aircraft fuel within a 30 mile radius.  We waited anxiously by the plane at the lonely Loa airport for news that might afford our continuing our trip home.  About 40 minutes later the phone in the hangar rang.  Dad went to answer it and returned with the news that they’d obtained a couple 5 gallon cans of fuel that he’d purchased and were returning to field.  They’d be here in about a half an hour.  While this was certainly good news, dad indicated to Jay and I that 10 gallons of fuel would just barely be enough to get us on our way and that it did not provide any excess fuel should we run into a head wind on our way home.  What had been good news a few minutes ago was now marginal.  We’d remain at risk as our fuel tanks burned the precious liquid while winging our way home to Ogden - ~ 3 flight hours from Loa.

Provo Airport

As Uncle Rulon and his associate drove up, he and dad lifted the jerry cans of fuel from the bed of the truck and carefully poured it into the tanks of each wing.  With that Uncle Rulon and dad thanked the man for his assistance and we re-boarded the Piper Cherokee for the last leg of our trip.  With our takeoff we were Ogden bound!  As we waited for the next ‘challenge’ in our now expectant minds, we naturally began to calm as the time passed and we seemed to be ‘ok’.  Over an hour of flight time had passed without any new developments and our collective anxiety began to fade.  As we proceeded across Utah Lake however, dad recognized that somehow the fuel in the tank we’d been using was almost empty.  He’d switched to that tank earlier in the flight recognizing that we’d taken off from Loa with no fuel to spare.  Just as he recognized the accelerated depletion of our fuel, he heard/felt a ‘hiccup’ in the engine – a signal that the engine was on the threshold of starving for fuel!  Realizing that the fuel gauge for the other tank read empty and recognizing that we were currently at about 10,000 feet over Utah Lake, he switched the fuel control to the now empty tank and with a prayer began gliding toward the Provo Airport almost directly below us.  The engine returned to full power and we all held our breath for the next few minutes as we made our final approach to the Provo Airport.  Landing on what certainly must’ve been fumes; we taxied to the pump there, fueled up with ample to get us to Ogden, and took off again.  The fuel in Loa had been sufficient to get us to Provo and no further!  Within an hour or so we were landing in Ogden where we were met by Aunt Shirley who’d come to pick up Uncle Rulon.  As we taxied from the runway, I heard Uncle Rulon and dad agree to keep the ‘adventures’ of our trip just between them.  They agreed that to share the experience as they were fresh in our collective histories would serve little purpose and undoubtedly worry their spouses unnecessarily.  As we completed our business in returning the rental of the plane and walked to our own vehicle, dad admonished both Jay and I to keep the elements of our ‘adventurous’ trip to ourselves.  He indicated that our mother might not receive the excitement of our ‘adventures’ favorably.  Knowing that our father did not want to have a month of ‘hell to pay’, we understood his admonishment and agreed to comply – if nothing more than for our own sakes!

The ride home to Clearfield from Ogden was uneventful.

Years Later

Years later, when we all instinctively recognized that any repercussions of the trip and/or our representation of it would’ve long passed; the particulars of our adventurous trip were presented to the members of the extended family.  I guess it was well after both Jay and I had begun our own families that we were all gathered together in a ‘get together’ of the extended family.  As such gatherings are want to do, family members were reminiscing about the events of bygone years and the resulting relationships that had ensued thereafter.  I don’t remember whether it was Jay or I that ‘broke rank’ and opened the topic of our trip to Southern Utah with dad and Uncle Rulon.  Sensing by the way that both Jay and I looked at each other; and, judging by the way that both of us looked knowingly at dad, mom (and others) pressed for a furtherance of this, as yet, unrevealed conspiracy to withhold something obviously of import.  As we were both pressed further; and, at the obvious condescension of dad to require secrecy no further, the ‘flood gates’ were opened.  Each of us, exulting, chimed in with chapter after chapter of the trip as dad watched; waiting to see if the wrath of ‘deceived motherhood’ would ‘rain down upon his patriarchal head’.  Jay and I, playing the ‘innocents’ in this long held conspiracy, continued to revel in our shared ‘adventure’ that could now be presented in its most favorable light and devoid of its true trepidation and actual risk.  As my mother’s eyes calmed from their wide-eyed amazement, as my siblings listened and then resumed their competitive story telling; I watched to see what my mother’s message would be to her husband of many decades now.  As our story descended into the calmer clamor of multiple conversations in multiple voices, I saw my mother pass a knowing look at my father – to which he returned a knowing look.  Having lived and loved much of my life with these two impassioned, gentle souls, I like to believe I knew what their eyes communicated at that moment.  Mom had transmitted a look that registered her muted, almost envious surprise at having kept such a significant thing from her.  She was recognizing the camaraderie of shared adventure dad had enjoined with his two sons – a conspired camaraderie that had lasted decades!  Her look had hinted of admiration - that her husband could foster such allegiance so readily and preserve it so easily with his sons.  Conveyed in concert with that same look was an equally muted warning that if she’d known when it had happened – there’d been ‘hell to pay’!  But, since no real harm was apparent, her look said in the corners of her glance that, ‘You got away with it this time, Charlie!’  Dad’s look had conveyed that he knew what he’d been up against from the beginning; and that he’d ‘out smarted’ her with the omission of ‘vital’ elements of the trip that he’d reported as ‘uneventful’.  His laughing eyes delighted in the current revelation and that he’d not had to reveal it himself.  That, anticipating circumstances accurately, he’d let nature take its true course; and thereby, averted unnecessary drama.  In the corners of his eyes however was a carefully choreographed “I love you.  I love our family. I’d never do anything to hurt any of them.”  All of this took milliseconds to transpire.  As the message of my father’s eyes reached my mother’s, her firm face softened into a bright smile and her eyes danced.  Whenever my mother wanted to send a verbal warning to my father, she called him Charlie.