Backcountry Pilot

Bound for the Backcountry 2

Widely considered to be the premiere backcountry flying destination in the Lower 48, the rugged rivers and mountains of Idaho provide a wondrous setting for Richard Holm's Bound for the Backcountry, an impressive hard-bound volume detailing the history of the 43rd state's remote airstrips and backcountry aviation operations. In his second release, the soft-cover Bound for the Backcountry II: A History of Airstrips in the Wallowas, Hells Canyon, and the Lower Salmon River, Holm takes on the neighboring region along the Oregon/Idaho border where the Salmon river flows into the Snake river. The story of the boundary area is a natural expansion for an author who is a 3rd generation Idahoan and has grown up flying the region. As an introduction to his work, I've asked Richard to present a single chapter excerpt from Bound for the Backcountry II, a little history of Lord Flat in northeast Oregon. Enjoy. --Editor

Photo: Anthony RemboldtA clear winter day at Lord Flat

Lord Flat: General History and Airstrip

The Lord Flat area has a long history as a federal grazing allotment and outfitter camp permitted by the Forest Service. From the 1930s through the early 1970s, the various owners of the Tryon Ranch held both the Lord Flat outfitter and grazing permits. In 1927, cattleman Jim Dorrance bought the ranch. Dorrance, the youngest of eight kids, grew up on Cow Creek near Joseph. He and his brothers had a reputation as excellent horsemen, particularly brother Tom who has been the subject of several books. Dorrance lived in the vicinity of Lord Flat during the summers. For living quarters he had a cabin built in 1933, two miles to the south, now known as "Dorrance Cow Camp." Dorrance left the Snake River country in the fall of 1943 and eventually moved to Nevada. Accomplished in his career as a rancher in Nevada and California, he moved to Enterprise and lived his last years with daughter Phyllis. He died at age ninety in 1990.

Dorrence's friend Frank Wilson of Somers Creek ran cattle on the Lord Flat range for a few years during World War II. The Blankenship brothers followed Wilson and, like him, used the high range in the summer. They also established a commercial outfitting camp at the site in the fall. Clientele were housed at the Cow Camp Cabin and people were occasionally flown in via the airstrip.

Lord Flat in early summer, still green.

Approximately four to five years after Dorrance's move to Nevada, the Forest Service began developing plans for the Lord Flat airstrip. ^[i] Roads constructed in to the area during the 1930s lacked improvement, making for time-consuming travel. Also none of the roads were directly connected to Lord Flat. Still today, with a capable modern vehicle, it is roughly a two-and-half-hour drive from Memaloose to the site. The agency's rationale for the remote airfield was to allow prompt access to the area for administrative and fire control needs.

Tom Willett and Joe Conner contracted with the Forest Service to build the current 2,100' north-south airstrip at 5,300' MSL. Willett owned and operated Cedar Hill Farm, a Grade-A dairy, in Wallowa, Oregon. Soon after acquiring the dairy in 1941, he hired friend and grocery store owner Joe Conner for extra help. The two also farmed together on the side. In need of a tractor with implements, Willett bought a new International TD-18 crawler equipped with a hydraulic Isaacson blade. Separate from use on the farm, the machine was in demand with the Forest Service, as many of the heavy pieces of equipment in Wallowa County during the post-World War II era were dedicated to logging activities. Willett noticed the need and became a regular freelancer with the agency, taking on tasks such as the construction of the right-of-way up the Lostine River. ^[ii]

For the airstrip project the Forest Service assigned packer Alvie Keeler to assist Willett and Conners on walking the machine out to Lord Flat. Keeler rode ahead on a horse picking the best route. The TD-18 pulled a five-yard carryall attached to the back with a draw-pin. The carryall was packed with cans of extra diesel and all their camp equipment. Conners sat amongst these items for most of the trip. On one steep incline, the draw-pin came loose sending the carryall and Conners plunging down a mountainside. It was a wild ride, but Conners escaped unscathed. The runaway piece of equipment was winched up and reattached. ^[iii]

Once a good portion of the field was cleared, arrangements were made with pilot Ray Dunsmore to fly in and re-supply the crew with diesel fuel. Over the course of the undertaking, Dunsmore flew several loads of fuel in. But the first takeoff on the short incomplete runway was interesting. In order to keep enough flying speed he had to pitch the plane down off the end of the strip into the drainage of Deep Creek. ^[iv]

Double O Bar Years

The Tryon Ranch and associated range permits at Lord Flat were acquired by a group of Oregon businessmen under the name Double O Bar, circa 1966. Cal Henry ran the operation for the majority of the corporation's ownership starting in 1968. In the beginning, Henry used the Dorrance Cow Camp Cabin on a year-to-year permit basis with the Forest Service. After a few years, the Forest Service wanted the cabin for administrative purposes, forcing Henry to establish a camp on the east side of the airfield. ^[v]

Some of the best hunters Henry had in his camp were Jim Teeny and his relatives and friends. Teeny, the founder of Teeny Nymph Company (now Jim Teeny Inc.) created and patented several popular flies for fishing – the most known is the "Teeny Nymph Fly." Generally, a group of ten would come in and they were such good hunters Henry just ran a pack string for them. Regarding that era and quality of hunting at Lord Flat Henry reminisced, "The Teeny's really put a dent in the trophy population. But still the deer herds were thick... on the first day of hunting for each party I could show clients twenty to twenty-five nice bucks, it was just a matter of taking your pick." ^[vi]

The area around the Lord Flat airstrip was a focal point not only for Henry and his patrons, but also for private hunters. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the herds were enormous and full of excellent animals. Naturally everyone wanted to hunt there, but hunters became frustrated easily because of the number of people attracted to the spot and moved elsewhere the next year. Illustrating the fluctuation, Henry counted twenty-seven private airplanes parked at Lord Flat on opening day one year – the next year only about five or six airplanes showed up. The uneven surface of the airfield also may have deterred a few pilots from returning. One fall, Henry made a trip to town and returned several days later only to find three wrecked airplanes. Nobody was around, but he surmised two crashed on takeoff and the third collapsed a gear on landing. All three were later disassembled and trucked out. ^[vii]

An Easy Hunt – With a Hard Exit

Pilot Bud Stangel exclusively flew for Henry at the ranch and for the outfitting business. Over the years, the two became close friends. Generally toward the end of each hunting season, Stangel flew in with his sons for a short hunt. Henry commonly had a few nice elk picked out for them. After the Stangels filled their tags, Henry packed the meat to the airstrip and sent the party out. ^[viii]

Bud Stangel and his favorite Cub in the Snake River Region Photo: Stangel

On one of the annual hunts the winter snow came unexpectedly early. Since Henry and his guides still had to drive a pickup and trail the stock out, they offered to lighten the load in Stangel's Cessna 206 and pack the meat of three elk back to Enterprise. Some discussion ensued, and Stangel liked the idea of having less weight in the airplane for a wheel takeoff in the snowy conditions. Not thinking much about it, Henry rode out with Stangel and the next day drove to the Hat Point area where he planned to meet his crew. Along the way, Henry encountered deep snow and realized his employees were likely not going to be able to drive out of Lord Flat, so he returned back to town. His intuition turned out to be correct. When he did not hear from the crew, he and Stangel scouted the road with a Piper Cub and spotted the pickup mired down. His hired hands had accidently slid the pickup off the road and walked back to camp. Henry hired Ted Grote with a helicopter to fly in and haul out his men and the meat stowed in the bed of the pickup. Henry returned a few days later on horseback with a mule packed with come-alongs, chains, and a handyman jack. After many hours of backbreaking work, he inched the vehicle up to the road and decided to park it at the Lord Flat airstrip for the winter. ^[ix]

When the snow retreated from the mountaintops the next year, Stangel flew Henry to Lord Flat to recover the pickup. At first sight the truck appeared to be fine, but one glance in the cab revealed animals had destroyed the entire interior. Trying to stay positive, Henry decided he could still drive it back to town. However, the darn thing would not start. In fact, it did not even make a sound when he turned the key in the ignition switch. As the two began to troubleshoot the problem, they discovered that critters had eaten and removed every ounce of wire in the vehicle! Stangel, a mechanical and electrical master, later returned with the necessary tools and parts and re-wired the minimum components of the truck to get it running for the trip to town. ^[x]

The Snake river region features some amazing airstrips, like nearby Temperance Creek.

Recent History

The airstrip became the main avenue of access to the Lord Flat area as the Forest Service closed all but one rough road to motor vehicles in 1985. ^[xi] Although a single road remained open to motorized use, it was restricted to non-motorized use during big game hunting season. This controversial road was primarily constructed by the agency to fight the Pony Bar Fire on the east side of Summit Ridge in 1960. The Forest Service decided to leave it in place and open it to motorized vehicles to provide better access to the Lord Flat airstrip. However, the agency gradually began to refer to it, not as a road, but as the "Lord Flat Trail." Three years after the Hells Canyon NRA was created, a large wilderness area was designated within it. Even though the airstrip and camp were not inside the wilderness, one and a half miles of the motorized road dipped into it. In an effort to please both motorized user groups and wilderness advocates the Forest Service realigned the road. However, the Hells Canyon Preservation Council filed a lawsuit against the agency claiming it failed to recognize the proper wilderness boundary, and therefore was in violation of the Wilderness Act. Following a decade of court proceedings, the Forest Service thumped the lawsuit, and thus the road remains open. ^[xii]

The airstrip can be useable year-round, as long as conditions permit. At nearly 6,000' MSL the snow can be deep. Photo: Anthony Remboldt

Similar to the road, the airstrip surface is arduous. Even though the strip is plenty long and has an easygoing open approach and departure, the surface is anything but smooth – mainly appears as an unimproved field that is vaguely defined along the sides by large white painted boulders. The runway ends are not well marked. In recent years, the Wallowa County Pilots Association and the IAA have worked with the Forest Service to provide as much voluntary maintenance as possible. In the early 2010s, the runway was disked, leveled, and reseeded twice. At the same time a new windsock was installed. At present, the field is still best suited for conventional gear airplanes.

The rough strip can be hard even on conventional gear aircraft; bushwheels and prudence are highly recommended. Photo: Doug Goodenough

Aero Commander Wreckage

A few pieces of a crashed Aero Commander 500-B (N5080) remain visible about six air miles northwest of the airstrip on a leeward ridge toward the Snake River. The plane actually crashed about a half mile from this location, but several parts were accidently dropped here by the helicopter pilot in charge of the salvage operation. The Aero Commander, owned by Combs Airways of Billings, Montana, was lost from radar on the night of December 18, 1968 and deemed missing for months.

The plane, piloted by forty-three year old Eugene Whittlesey of Spokane was on a routine charter flight from Boise to Spokane carrying mail for the US Postal Service. Before radio contact was lost, Whittlesey reported a loss of engine power caused by icing conditions. A several week search ensued for the lost plane, but it was not found before winter set in.xiii In a strange set of circumstances Combs Airways lost another pilot in an Aero Commander (N6281X) the same night. The pilot of this aircraft knowingly attempted a takeoff on a snowy runway with an inoperative left magneto on the left engine. Banking on the health of the right engine for takeoff turned out to be disastrous, as one of the cylinder exhaust valves on the right engine fell apart just prior to rotation causing it to lose all power. Reacting to the partial power loss the pilot aborted the takeoff, but the plane went down an embankment and killed the pilot on impact.

Whittlesey and his Aero Commander were spotted the following spring by a passing airplane when the snow melted. Ted Grote was hired to recover the body and landed at the accident site on March 22, 1969 with a helicopter. After a thorough examination of the wreckage, Grote found a loose fuel cap hanging by the catch chain. He also observed that no fuel was present in the tanks of the plane. The FAA later released several other facts that reaffirmed the accident was caused by fuel exhaustion. The pilot voiced concern to Air Traffic Control (ATC) early in the flight that he was consuming fuel at an alarming rate. Secondly, it was confirmed Whittlesey had fueled the aircraft himself before departing from Boise. ^[xiv]

Following the discovery of the accident, the Lewiston postmaster chartered Grote to fly him to the scene of the accident to retrieve the mail. The postal employees were boated to Dug Bar and Grote airlifted them to the wreckage that had impacted a forty-degree sloping mountainside. The Spokane Daily Chronicle wrote that the plane had large volumes of Christmas mail aboard, most of it bound for Lewiston.xv One remarkable oddity of the crash involved Ralph Longfellow, a former Snake River rancher who owned land miles from the accident site. He had sent several Holiday greeting cards via mail days before the crash. His mail ended up on Whittlesey's plane. Longfellow's relatives in Lewiston finally received the cards in March after they were salvaged from the wreckage and delivered.xvi Even adding another twist to the Longfellow connection is that part of a wing can still be spotted from the opposite side of the Snake River from his old ranch. It is easiest to see when the sun is shining from the east and thus illuminating the Oregon side of the river. Part of a wing is fairly visible in this light, looking northwest about two-thirds of the way up the ridge above Dug Bar.

Bound for the Backcountry II: A History of Airstrips in the Wallowas, Hells Canyon, and the Lower Salmon River features this excerpt and many more chapters like it. It can be purchased on Amazon.