Go west, young man.

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I decided to fly to Idaho the summer of 2014 shortly after I purchased my airplane, a 2007 Savage Cub. I was also a freshly minted private pilot. I figured that the best way to experience all the adventure that I had been reading about on Backcountrypilot.org was to just get my ass out there and find it for myself.

Near the end of 2013 I started a business called Off Airport Gear. It specializes in clothing for pilots and enthusiasts alike whose heart and spirit lies in the backcountry. This trip would also help to legitimize myself and give some street credit to the brand.

Will it all fit? Three five-gallon fuel cans and enough stuff for 10 days away from home, plus camera gear. It all fits! Backseat out of course.

Early in the year there were a group of pilots planning a fly in at the Garden Valley Airstrip in Garden Valley, Idaho. That would become my destination, and I announced my plans online, and to some local pilots. The online community was very supportive of the decision to take off to Idaho with so few hours under my belt. (I left Ohio for Idaho with less than 100 total hours in my log book.) Some of the local pilots were questioning my sanity, to be certain. But I felt cautiously confident in my own ability.

The biggest resistance to this scheme came from my loved ones. They truly questioned the skillset of a pilot that had just gotten his license less than 4 months prior. The good news for the worried was that I was equipped with the latest Iridium satellite tracking system from Delorme. This would allow everyone concerned to monitor my progress. They could watch in real time how things were playing out for me, and make sure that if something did happen, they could see where my last known position was.

The departure date was to be June 24, 2014.

The lack of terrain in the midwest can be boring, but also beautiful in its own unique way. I was ready to see some real terrain. I would not be disappointed.

Leaving the Noble County, Ohio Airport (I10), I was off. There were storms scattered all throughout the Midwest, and there would be all kinds of new situations that would arise along the way that would require smart decision making and critical thinking.

The first of my challenges came at Marion, Indiana (KMZZ). I needed to land for fuel and stop for an advancing line of thunderstorms. No big deal. I had the thought to check my tire pressure before I left, but then I didn't. And I paid for it. I ended up spinning the tire on the wheel due to being so heavy, and having low air pressure in the tire. Luckily, I didn't shear the valve stem. It was an easy fix by letting out the air in the tire and spinning the tire on the wheel to line up the wheel, tire, and tube (valve stem). The Marion Airport guys were more than helpful with tools and equipment to fix me up.

Spun the tire on the wheel. Note the marks not lining up. Heavy+low air pressure (9 lbs) = near sheared valve stem.

After waiting for the first storm to pass, I was off again. Dodged a few more cells and ended up in Platteville Wisconsin (KPVB) for the night. It was a long first day.

I slept on the couch in the airport. I had planned to camp most of the way, but actually ended up sleeping on the couches of many small airports. It saved a lot of setup/takedown time. I burn car gas (mogas) in the Rotax and never even had to put a drop of 100LL in the airplane during the entire trip. This was due to the fact that courtesy cars were never a problem to get ahold of. There were a few instances where a courtesy car was not available, but I usually had extra gas in the cans that I was carrying, topped off, and it was a non issue.

After crossing the Mississippi River at Prairie Du Chein Wisconsin, it became to clear that I was actually making some progress. The Midwest is beautiful in its own way, but somewhat boring. I was ready to see some actual terrain. I was still a bit apprehensive about what the mountains and flying in them might behold.

A precautionary stop in Pierre, South Dakota. There were three large cells out ahead of me with nowhere to divert before flying into them.

I decided to stop in Pierre, South Dakota (KPIR) due to some rather large and ominous looking thunderstorms on radar that were showing tops over 50K feet. I was blocked. There were significant winds reported at the airport. Significant for me that is. Luckily, they were blowing right down the runway. As it turns out, it was no big deal. That felt pretty good. Higher wind landing, outside of my comfort zone? - Check.

I ended up getting a hotel room for the night, because I had a pretty long day and was ready for a shower. I paid the FBO for their rental car and was off for the night.

Waiting for weather is boredom. Framing shots comes easy when bored. From the office of the Forsyth, Montana airport.

I left Pierre under clear skies, but more storms were forecast along my route of flight. This is summertime and I am flying into constantly changing conditions when going west.

Once crossing into Montana, the radar and what I saw through the windscreen had me thinking landing would be wise. I was following the Yellowstone River east of Billings when I decided it would be a good idea to stop. Forsyth (1S3) would be the point.

It was an interesting place to be certain. The field mechanic told some good stories and there was no shortage of twisted metal lying around to check out. Heaps, as they were. An old crop duster boneyard.

Seen in the boneyard at Forsyth, MT. The melted visor gets one thinking about the story behind it.

After the 3-hour delay in Forsyth, I was off again. With some more thunderstorms to try and elude. The big one seemed to be moving at about a snail's pace, so I decided to try and fly around it. There was Billings airspace on my left wing, and the large cell to my right. Not to mention mountains behind both. I was always told to leave yourself a way out when working your way into or through weather. The combination of mountains and weather is nothing to take lightly, and I was not about to do that.

I was doing well avoiding the class C airspace at Billings, but I was getting a bit too close for comfort with this cell. I ended up getting pushed into the Billings Airspace and had to request a clearance through. Then I found out my encoder was acting up...the hard way. By approach control. That was cleared up with a loose connection fixed on the next landing.

Dodging weather near Billings, Montana.

I was about 25 miles away from the storm and got blasted with a downdraft that put the camera that was laying between my feet at eyeball height and then slammed it back down to the floor. I was having to pull the throttle back to idle to keep from over speeding and also climbing 1-2000 fpm. Then, having to go back to full throttle at a futile attempt to maintain altitude while losing 1-2000 fpm. Just a leaf I was, along for the ride.

This scared the shit out of me. It was my first experience with getting my ass handed to me in an airplane. In hindsight, it wasn't really that bad. I have heard way worse accounts of situations similar to this. I had just gotten lucky. I decided that was enough for one day and diverted to Columbus, MT, to Woltermann Memorial (6S3). It turned out to be a great decision as the accommodations were the best of the entire trip. It was a one room log cabin (with a bathroom and shower, albeit cold water only for some reason.) It was brand new and dedicated to Mr. Woltermann. It was great.

A showery departure. VFR. Marginal at best. I love Montana.

The next morning was looking a bit drizzly with low ceilings but the airports along my route of flight were all reporting VFR or at least MVFR. I was following I-90 and would be able to keep the interstate beneath me if IFR was necessary. IFR, as in, "I Follow Roads." Kind of a joke, but something that could potentially save your life if shit gets real.

IFR flight plan opened and active ;)

I was wondering if I was going to be able to carry on through the I-90 corridor with the conditions not looking too good. I have driven this stretch of road before and it felt good being familiar with the area. About the time I got to Bozeman, the skies began to clear out and reveal a beautiful sight. Blue skies, of course!

Who needs words? Beauty.

After a fuel stop in Dillon, Montana (KDLN) I was so ready to be in Idaho. Not before being warned about the weather in Monida Pass by the nice woman at the FBO. She informed me that it will only get worse as the day progressed so if I saw an opening, I should go for it. But, she said, DO NOT PUSH IT. Turn around if it looks sketchy. There was a gentleman there a few weeks ago who waited for the weather to break for over a week. He took off and later perished in a crash because of the conditions. Not exactly a warm and fuzzy feeling.

So there she is, Monida Pass. The XM and ForeFlight radar weren't giving up much information. So little that I couldn't tell if it was raining or clear. It looked like what many weather forecasters refer to as virga, or kind of an anomaly. What I soon found out was that it was pretty socked in, but still good enough for VFR minimums. Barely. I did a check on the obstacles well before the pass to make sure that there was nothing that was going to reach up and grab me on the way through if I had to be low.

As it turned out it was quite shitty, but doable. I was extremely nervous. All that I could think of were all the naysayers saying, "we told him not to go" and, "he was too inexperienced for this kind of trip." I could barely see through the other side right before the narrowest part. So I knew that I had it made before I committed. I was a happy boy once I got into the Sun Valley.

I stopped at Mud Lake (1U2), a small municipal airport with an active crop dusting operation going on. Pretty dang cool to see how that all works. Nice people too, as the owner let me take their TDi Jetta into town to get mogas because of the lack of courtesy car. I was thankful for that and the gas station lunch was welcomed.

After gassing up for the last time before reaching my destination, I was a bit unsure about the ceilings to get over to Garden Valley. I was listening to traffic on the Backcountry frequencies and people were out and about, so I figured all was good. That is when I left the safety of the valleys to start crossing the mountains. Pretty wild for a flatlander to see snow this near July on some of the peaks.

You have arrived, son.

My arrival to Garden Valley (U88) was typical for a rookie like myself. Big ol' pattern, and wayyyy to high on final. Had to put on an Ohio Bush Planes slip that would make Swingle giggle to get her down. I did grease it onto the runway for everyone, so it looked pretty impressive I was told a few times that night. That made my day. Actually, stepping foot on the turf at Garden Valley made my day. The preceding days were full of stressful flying. So much so that it was actually difficult to enjoy, if I am being honest. There were moments of joy, don't get me wrong. It's just that the fear kind of overshadowed the fun. It was like once I had a moment to just sit back and enjoy the ride, I would be forced to make a decision that put real gravity on the situation at hand. This is no fucking joke. I was extremely conscious of everything that I was doing. And blissfully ignorant of the rest.

Many bushplanes greeted me at Garden Valley, Idaho (U88). This was the destination! I made it. Super STOL, doing what it does.

After some much needed sleep that night there was some discussion the next morning, and it was decided that a group would head off to Idaho City (U98) for breakfast. The weather was forecast to be basically perfect. Pretty cool in the morning, and warm in the afternoon with nothing more than a light breeze. Idaho City had the Frontier Days Festival in full swing and the place was booming. It is hard to believe this place used to be the capital city of Idaho.

It was awesome to finally meet so many of the people that I have only known online through screen names and direct messages. I emailed with a few people before my trip for some E-Mentoring and it turns out some of these people have become what I would consider close friends. The Backcountrypilot.org site has helped forge some amazing friendships over the past few years for me.

Atlanta USFS strip. (55H)

After Idaho City, a few of us decided to go to the Atlanta Hot springs for a little R&R. Atlanta is a cool little mountain town with a one room school and (currently) two bars. There are also two airstrips there. One is private, however and is called the Greene Valley Retreat. The USFS strip (55H) is the one to use. We were luckily greeted by a nice person in a pickup from one of the bars that was actually looking for someone else. They got tired of waiting for this other person and decided they would give us a ride to town. This was appreciated because it was about a mile or so to town. From there we decided to walk to the Hot Springs.

Hot springs at Atlanta. A nice hike from town. Not too far at all.

We passed a few familiar faces on the walk out to the hot springs (other pilots). The hot springs were incredible, and the backdrop was beautiful. On our walk back from the hot springs, we watched our fellow aviators depart the USFS strip. After grabbing a cold bottle of water at the bar, we were again shuttled back to the strip.

I can honestly say I really enjoyed this day. It was what I envisioned a typical day flying and enjoying the backcountry would be. A nice mix of destination driven recreation capped off in the morning and evening with some mountain flying. I was in paradise.

We departed Atlanta and headed back to Garden Valley for some much needed relaxation.

After things settled down a bit and everyone returned to base, an impromptu STOL competition took place at about midfield of the Garden Valley Runway. It was fun watching everyone's technique and then listening to everyone's critique of the "contestants."

Impromptu STOL competition breaks out at Garden Valley in the evening.

Having a nice hot shower facility at the airport was great. After a meal, raffle, and hot shower, it was time to relax by the fire and enjoy some stories and music by Pops Dory himself.

I was undecided what I was going to do for the next few days. Everyone seemed to be heading out to other locales. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I felt like I needed to get back, but I also felt like I just got there! This is the problem when it takes four days to get to the destination. You spend so much of the allotted time traveling to, and not enjoying the destination. Being a contractor and not having vacation pay coming in is always on your mind while weighing options for staying or going.

The view from our campsite at Johnson Creek.

My friend Tyler aka "Chosstronaut" asked me to come camp at Johnson Creek (3U2) for a few nights. So that's what I did. I am so glad that I did too. For multiple reasons. Many of which would not be revealed to me until later that year.

We were going to meet for breakfast at Big Creek after dropping all my stuff off at Johnson Creek, but there was an accident that closed the runway at Big Creek. I decided to wait at JC and relax until Tyler and crew got back. We ended up having a pretty relaxing day just hanging out in Johnson Creek and Yellow Pine.

The next day we packed up and headed out. We both had places to be. We agreed to fly together over to the Flying B Ranch (12ID) for breakfast with a few other pilots we had camped with. We spent about an hour and a half there before departing. The flying B is such an awesome place. It felt so remote. So isolated. Only easily accessible by our mode of transportation, the airplane. It would take forever on foot, possibly days on horseback, and I can't even say (because I am unsure) how long by river.

Flying down the Marble Creek Drainage. The lineup for breakfast at the "B". Flying B Ranch (12ID) Salmon, Idaho.

It has a rich history, and is located on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River, 38 miles Southwest of Salmon, ID in the Frank Church Wilderness Area. The airstrip is 2100 feet long at an elevation of 3,600 feet. The ranch has its own hydro electric power plant and is staffed by between 7-10 employees. The breakfast was excellent, and I even bought a t-shirt from the gift shop to prove I was there.

After saying goodbyes to the other pilots, Tyler and I started east over the mountains to Challis, ID (KLLJ) where we would eventually fuel up with the gas bought in Yellow Pine before parting ways.

History hanging on the wall: a photo of a Skywagon fly-in at the Flying B during a high water event.

I had some difficulties climbing out of the valley. The plane was heavy, and the engine was having some cooling issues. I was able to keep it cool, but had to keep the airspeed up for cooling and was not able to climb quite as fast as I would have liked. I was able to stay fairly calm by talking through the issues with Tyler on the radio. We had to climb over 7000 feet to clear the ridge to the west of Challis. It was the most nerve racking climb out I have had, to date.

After fueling up and a bro hug, we parted ways. This was the last time I would see Tyler alive. Tyler would be killed in a mid air collision three months later. Blue skies and tailwinds, brother. I will cherish the time we spent together in Idaho.

Time to head

Eastbound. As much fun as my short time in the west was, it felt good to be pointed home.

My first stop after Challis was Kemmerer, Wyoming (KEMM). I have to be honest, I had fears of the Wyoming winds from stories of other pilots. After some of the winds I experienced on this trip, I felt like I was ready for whatever. (Within reason, of course.) I was getting to know my airplane better than ever. I logged over 30 hours so far on this trip. I felt good enough that all I would need to do was point the nose into the wind and I could land across most runways in my airplane.

The terrain across Wyoming is varied and always beautiful.

These small bits of experience gained were being compiled. They were being turned into confidence. Not only in my flying ability, but in myself. That was the most amazing thing. The feeling of knowing I could handle a difficult situation.

During my trip to town for fuel and food in Kemmerer, I saw the original JC Penny's store. It looked like it was closed, but there nonetheless. After Kemmerer, it was Rawlins (KRWL), where I saw a nice herd of Antelope grazing in the field off the runway. After Rawlins, near the Medicine Bow Peak, over the Medicine Bow National Forest, I had another cylinder head temp scare, which turned out to be a false reading on the gauge. I calibrated and verified the inaccuracy of the gauge in flight with my fist. After striking the dashboard things looked better. I believe it was a "sticky" needle. That sticky situation was followed by a beautiful dusk landing at Laramie (KLAR).

The hangar at Rawlins, Wyoming (KRWL). I had to stop at the end of the taxiway just to get the shot. I think it sums it all up, doesn't it?

The airport was all but closed when I got there. It was a Friday night, and appeared everyone was gone. The only people there were two rampies who were closing up shop for the night. The FBO was closed. I talked one of them into giving me a ride to a hotel with a shuttle to the airport in the morning. Turns out that was a bad idea for a couple reasons. First, I was sure the rampy was going to kill me via bullet to the temple beside the gravel road "shortcut" we were taking. It felt more like, "the gravel road to your impending murder," not a shortcut. It turns out this gravel road was in fact just a shortcut, as the hotel was all the way across town. Dumb idea. We drove past three perfectly good hotels to get to this one.

The taxi ride (yes, taxi; The shuttle only runs at 6:00 am, I learned) cost 50 bucks the next morning and turned out it was more like public transit. We picked up two other people on the way. I think I paid their way also, you know, because we pilots are rich. Not exactly efficient for the pilot who wants to depart early. Whatever...

Tailwinds!

After Laramie, it was Searle, Nebraska (KOGA). Actually the winds were worse here than in Wyoming! It sure made for a short landing! May be my shortest of all time for me, even now. Felt good. Once I made the right turn to head to the ramp, I realized that taxiing was going to be slow, and sweaty. But I made it. More fuel and food.

Then on to Kearney, Nebraska (KEAR) to fuel up again, then to North Central Missouri Regional (MO8) for the night. I slept on the couch in the office there also.

Obligatory cockpit selfie.

I woke up the next morning to a beautiful sunrise and awesome tailwinds. I only had a single stop to make in Taylorville, Illinois (KTAZ) before passing over (KIND) Indianapolis, and Dayton/ Wright Patterson AFB, and then landing back at Noble County Airport where this all started.

What an epic adventure for a new pilot. It would be an adventure for any pilot who really loves to fly. It was possibly the best single learning experience I have ever had. Never in my wildest dreams could I have seen this coming. Piloting my own airplane into some of the most remote wilderness in the Lower 48.

The route taken, and stops made.

I learned so much about flying, sure. But I learned more about who I really am, and who I was becoming. I gained confidence that I never thought that I would have. I learned that I am capable of making good, safe decisions. I learned that I have skills, and that I am in fact a good, competent pilot, albeit green. I learned that in order to truly live, you have to work outside of your comfort zone. There were multiple occasions where I wanted to turn around and fly back home, multiple times I was scared. And with the exception of a few moments, I had only myself, my training, and my instincts to rely on. I wanted to get to Idaho. It was more than just a backcountry flying destination. It was a spot on the map that represented so many of my dreams.

I made it, there and back. To Idaho.

Complete photo gallery from the trip:

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