This is a rambling explanation of why I went flying all over the place yesterday.

I have, for a long time, been something of a completionist. That is to say, if I’m doing something a little, I’ll end up doing it a lot. Flying has a funny way of interacting with this tendency, since doing most anything from a routine burger hop to a long cross country journey requires a higher level of intent and concentration than other hobbies. When I was a flight instructor in Florida for example, I had to put an immense amount of preparation into each lesson I gave. It took no less forethought to give Joe decent tailwheel training than to give Jimbo a solid instrument approach workout. Or Bill his craziest (mock) engine failure yet.

With all that in mind, it makes sense that for both my and my students’ sanity I’d always seek out new ways to keep training interesting and varied. New scenarios, new airspace, new airports. It was that last point that led me to eventually land at every airport in the sunshine state. I’ll be the first to tell you, that place has a healthy amount of airports. Some say too many, but they’re wrong. Now I’ll also mention that Florida is not the most varied in the way of terrain. Most of the “land” is swamp, another good chunk is sand, and the leftovers consist of either pavement or lost Disney-goers. So, it took a relatively small amount of effort to point a (again, comparatively) cheap rental Cherokee 140 at one coast and follow it all the way around, stopping at each strip along the way. No mountains to avoid, no borders to be concerned with. It was a quality bit of fun time building for myself and anybody who tagged along.

I live on the front range of Colorado now. Those who are familiar will know it is somewhat less flat. I’m a huge fan. I’m also an aircraft owner myself now, which allows for whatever silly, time-consuming projects I happen to dream up and become capable of funding. So, with a job that already takes me to most of the bigger airports in the state anyhow, I figured I’d try and hit all the airports out here too. Colorado might just be a rectangle, but it’s my favorite rectangle, and I’m inclined to see as much of it as I can.

I started out easy last year, with a little loop out from the Denver metro area to the northeast. I’d already visited most every airport in the Denver-Springs locale before, so dividing the rest of the state into quarters made the most sense to me. Places like Sterling, Holyoke, Wray, and Brush were out this way. There ended up being a few neat duster strips, a part-time drag strip, and wide open corn fields with some high winds. But as anybody from the area will say, West Kansas is pretty dull. There’s just a whole lot of nothing out that way. Lucky for me, every other direction from there on out was looking much more interesting.

So yesterday I went out early to see the southeast side of the state. We’ve been having a mean wind streak for the last week and a half at least, with gusts regularly up in the 60mph range. That probably doesn’t sound like much to the Wyoming/Nebraska folks, but to me it’s just not all that fun to spend six hours of my day fighting crosswinds and bouncing my head off the ceiling in turbulence. The weather folks said things were looking calmer in the morning, with a return to regularly scheduled gusty bullshit in the afternoon. So, when I said “early” before, I meant “flying for an hour and a half before civil twilight hit.” I blasted off into a quiet Denver sky and bothered Buckley for a transition through their Delta airspace. He seemed unbothered to have to put down his coffee for me, and wished me on my way as I cruised on out of his space to the southeast.

Now the Stinson owners here will know that the model 108 was designed to cruise at 108mph according to legend. I don’t usually see that exact number up at 6,000 feet but 100mph isn’t out of the question. So, with that in mind, it took a good long time to cross the vast, dark nothing that exists between the E-470 and the city of Las Animas, Colorado. I killed time by fiddling with my lights, taking bearings off VORs, and watching jet traffic zip away from Springs airport and into the void. The sky eventually got lighter as I approached Las Animas, but some quick math told me I was ahead of schedule. Lucky me, tailwinds. This would be the only leg I’d see them. I wasn’t keen on landing on that reportedly rough runway in the dark, lights or no runway lights, so I scouted out a nearby reservoir with pretty fog rolling of the edge until things got lighter.



A low approach at Animas showed me the reports of “huge cracks, big enough to swallow a bushwheel” were greatly exaggerated. I landed, backtaxiied, and left without incident. The tired looking hangars didn’t notice my passing. Off to Lamar.

There was a long body of water between me and my destination, this time with a wall of fog a hundred feet high running along the entire length of the lake. Way cool. I paused to appreciate this before being blinded at last by the rising sun. I squinted my way through the last ten minutes to Lamar before squeaking in for gas. Now I could have easily made it to either of the next two airports on my list for a fill up, but the price here was quite good and reviews of Springfield Muni (later on) were not optimistic about its self-serve functioning. In a (now) amusing turn of events, the computerized pump at Lamar turned out to need a reboot—it was showing the Windows desktop on its tiny screen. Without my portable USB keyboard, I was forced to ask for help from the locals in getting gas. Testament to aviation being generally a fine group of folks, I got some and was on my way.





I had spotted a flyer during my visit to the Lamar FBO about Twin Buttes, a “mountain” to the south with “world class skiing, hiking, and bird watching.” So naturally I went searching on my chart and had no problem finding a dot that marked its location. Funny, I thought, the windmills next to it have a higher elevation marking than the mountain…? Sure enough, this little hill was the only natural object of any height for miles. It just also wasn’t all that tall. I circled just once before getting back on my way.




Some of the later forecast wind had started up by the time I hit Springfield, so I left them with a mediocre crosswind landing to remember me by and turned West. I had expected this to be one of the duller sections of the trip, since it would take me and my Stinson about an hour to cross over to Trinidad and the sectional looked pretty blank. Turns out I was quite wrong, and the land showed me gorgeous hills and valleys covered in windblown snow. These gave way to genuine cliffs and canyons. Plenty of ranches and farms to be had out this way, although the drive to town for market had to be an all day undertaking. One gorgeous private airstrip on the edge of a picturesque canyon caught my eye. I’ll forever be jealous of the places people find to carve out a runway. One direction held the snowy mesas south of Trinidad and Culebra Range, and the other held views over empty canyons and vast expanses to the horizon and beyond.

Moving on to Trinidad. I’d passed this way a few times before on other adventures but never stopped in. Of course, it tended to be a hotbed for Air Force trainers (if their radio calls were any indication) so I planned a quick visit to their grass runway before being on my way. Lucky for me, the pattern was empty as I approached. A quick inspection of the grass runway 27 led to a happy landing and clean getaway to the mountains. I was expecting a rough surface to land on, but they must really take care of their runways equally, since it was darn nice.
Finally, it was time for the mountains! If there’s one part of Colorado I love, its’s the pointy part. Of course, today wasn’t the greatest day to express that love, as local AWOSs were talking about steady winds in the fifteen to twenty knot range. Now that’s much better than a gusty breeze, but anything over ten starts to make the air around the foothills choppy and rather unenjoyable. I was thinking about this and tightening my belts when I noticed another gorgeous private strip, just on the northeast face of the spine coming off the Spanish Peaks. I couldn’t believe how this little 1,500 foot strip was squeezed right up against a ridge, with trees on either end, at 7,300 feet elevation, and yet looked beyond inviting! One day.





I had done some reading on Cuchara Valley at La Veta airport and had come to the conclusion that it could be potentially problematic. Reviews and FAA remarks alike called its single runway “poor” in condition and described two foot deep potholes lurking to eat my gear legs. Add to this the wild winds (thankfully straight down the runway) and it was shaping up to be a fun time. I began my attempt to visit with a low approach. Sure enough, the sealant in the runway’s approximately one million cracks looked to have sunk a good few inches. The light posts were few and very far between, and half of those same posts appeared broken off. Their remains were usually found scattered on the opposite side of the runway. But the mega-death-potholes did not appear to be real, so I came back around for what must have been the shortest no-brakes landing in my (Stinson flying) career. Having fifteen knots steady on the nose had me stopped, motionless, with the tail still flying about a hundred feet down the runway. For as neat as this place was turning out to be, I didn’t really want to press my luck, so I gingerly tapped the tail down before blasting back off towards Spanish Peaks Airfield.

Being much farther away from the its namesake than my last airport, I find the Spanish Peaks field to be misleading. I landed on its buffalo grass runway 20, got cheap gas from its self-serve pump, and was gone without really finding much to catch my attention. A little sad for my last new airport of the day, but it is hard to complain. From here, it was smooth sailing back home. Springs approach let me follow the highway through their airspace—until I got the Academy Delta, which apparently did not feel like cooperating. The wind up high had been howling out of the west all morning, as indicated by a nice set of lenticulars relaxing above Long’s Peak. However, the ground wind at home base was reporting three whole knots out of the east. Huh? Did someone say wind shear?
Well not me ‘cause I landed fine. Then went home, ate a delicious meal, and crashed.

6 hours in the seat, 500 nautical miles, and 6 new airports. West side next.

Dunno if anywhere else has anything like this, but Washington State Aviation has a passport program.

https://www.washingtonaviation.org/news ... ortunities.

They will provide pilots with "passports",
and have equipped most public use airports in the state with passport stamps.
If you get stamps at enough airports, you're eligible to be awarded stuff.
This program doesn't blow my skirt up,
but it does seem to have inspired a lot of pilots to fly around and get their passports stamped,
And anything that promotes aviation & gets people out there flying is a good thing.

Very cool, Trevair. Good to see a detailed trip report.

Just a tip for future ease of uploading, here's an easier way IMO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9Fa1Io-pxQ

I rarely use the file attachment method, personally. For multiple pics, the gallery method is the way to go.

Nice work. We don't have a passport program to my knowledge. A few years ago I devised a point system among my friends and I to land at all the public use airports in Colorado - with bonus points for grass/gravel. It's a fun game. Maybe see you around. I have my 180 based at LMO and BDU (it's complicated).

hotrod180 wrote:Dunno if anywhere else has anything like this, but Washington State Aviation has a passport program.

https://www.washingtonaviation.org/news ... ortunities.

They will provide pilots with "passports",
and have equipped most public use airports in the state with passport stamps.
If you get stamps at enough airports, you're eligible to be awarded stuff.
This program doesn't blow my skirt up,
but it does seem to have inspired a lot of pilots to fly around and get their passports stamped,
And anything that promotes aviation & gets people out there flying is a good thing.

soyAnarchisto wrote:Nice work. We don't have a passport program to my knowledge. A few years ago I devised a point system among my friends and I to land at all the public use airports in Colorado - with bonus points for grass/gravel. It's a fun game. Maybe see you around. I have my 180 based at LMO and BDU (it's complicated).

Thanks guys! I've heard of a few other states east of the Mississippi that have similar programs, but never one for Colorado. I wonder how hard it would be to start up...

Zzz wrote:Very cool, Trevair. Good to see a detailed trip report.

Just a tip for future ease of uploading, here's an easier way IMO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9Fa1Io-pxQ

I rarely use the file attachment method, personally. For multiple pics, the gallery method is the way to go.

Thank you sir, that looks much cleaner than inline!

I enjoy these kind of trip reports, so thank you! I finished up all the Cali public airports (around 250 altogether at that time) in 2009. There were a few new ones and alot of closed ones from when I started in 1976. I started making day trips and ended up doing a few overnights to collect them all. I was a bit upset at myself for overflying and not stopping at so many of them through the years! Crescent City was the toughest; took two trips and Special VFR in the Husky I had then.

That’s a huge accomplishment, Roger! Nice! We ought to bump that thread.

Minnesota has a passport program as well:

https://www.dot.state.mn.us/aero/aviati ... lcome.html

Maybe I’ll start a thread where I drive to all of these airports

This is awesome! Thanks for sharing!

I've flown into all the charted airports in my state... But there are only 8 of them! LOL

Maybe I need to try and see how quickly I can do them all in one day... Are aviation poker runs a thing?

onthegas1 wrote:I enjoy these kind of trip reports, so thank you! I finished up all the Cali public airports (around 250 altogether at that time) in 2009. There were a few new ones and alot of closed ones from when I started in 1976. I started making day trips and ended up doing a few overnights to collect them all. I was a bit upset at myself for overflying and not stopping at so many of them through the years! Crescent City was the toughest; took two trips and Special VFR in the Husky I had then.

My pleasure! Hitting every one in Cali sounds like quite the adventure--there's a ton! It sounds like you wrote about it someplace else?

Zzz wrote:That’s a huge accomplishment, Roger! Nice! We ought to bump that thread.

Minnesota has a passport program as well:

https://www.dot.state.mn.us/aero/aviati ... lcome.html

Maybe I’ll start a thread where I drive to all of these airports

SmokeyTheBear wrote:This is awesome! Thanks for sharing!

I've flown into all the charted airports in my state... But there are only 8 of them! LOL

Maybe I need to try and see how quickly I can do them all in one day... Are aviation poker runs a thing?

I've heard of a flying poker run in Michigan! (Beware the BookFace link...)

I need to stop picking windy days for my flying. The problem is, between work and life and other hobbies and mandatory cat-petting time, there are only so many hours left to bounce around the sky. The solution I tend to use is to simply be awake more. Waking up at 1am to start a hike before the desert heats up to 120F does work wonders on my core temperature. The problem, however, is that at night you can’t see things. Wow what a wonderful insight, Trevair can’t see in the dark! Yes, well, I like looking out the window when flying for fun, and especially when fun flying in the vicinity of mountains. There’s nothing quite like flying along the front range at night and thinking you see stars, only to realize those are houses up on the foothills. Above you.

So I started this particular adventure early, but only so early as to be cranking up in the dark. By the time I was going toe-to-toe with Rollins Pass and the Continental Divide, the sun had already risen and graced the snowy peaks with a rosy shade of pink. It then, for whatever reason, disappeared behind a high, thin overcast. This worked for me, as I hadn’t brought extra sunscreen.

Approaching the pass, I noticed my ground speed falling off. This was to be expected, as the calm winds down below were forecast to pick up with altitude. I shifted south to grab some lift off some hills near Eldora and got a series of seatbelt-testing jolts to enjoy. Luckily, I was already below maneuvering speed in the climb. But it still wasn’t a good time for me or poor Betsy. After enduring this for a few minutes I plopped into smooth air. Great! But then I was being thrust into the Ionosphere, courtesy of my friendly neighborhood mountain wave. Now I love free energy as much as the next guy, but staying below 13,999 feet was also something of a priority today. So the next step was to get myself over the ridge before the bottom fell out or I had to call the ISS for parking instructions. I pushed the nose even farther over, pulled the throttle even farther back, and gained a groundspeed almost resembling 100 before the bottom really did fall out—just abeam Devil’s Thumb. Luckily 2,000 feet of extra altitude and descending terrain allowed for plenty of margin for my “tactical descent” into the Winter Park area.

Things were much less intense for a while after that. I managed altitudes and headings while watching beautiful snowy peaks cruise by my windows. Byers Peak, Mount Powell, and Elliott Ridge kept my attention as Granby went and Eagle approached. I called up tower for a transition, even though I would technically be above their airspace. They cleared me through, and I had hoped to watch a jet of some kind land or depart while I cruised overhead. No such luck, but I did bear witness to a gorgeous blue Gulfstream of some kind occupying the ramp. Ah well, on to Glenwood.

Now GWS is a great little airport with a fun, challenging approach and usually cheap gas. I didn’t need any today, although I was still tempted to make a landing for the fun of it. What confused me was its new name on the chart, KGWS SUMMERS AIRPARK (KGWS). What the heck? Why was the airport code added to the name like that, and since when did it become and airpark? Nobody was out flying on CTAF, so I found no answers. I skimmed the ridge north of Sunlight Mountain (why doesn’t your AWOS have wind? That’s the most important part!) and continued west.

South of Rifle is the Battlement Mesa. A quick skim of my maps showed it as Forest Service land, which was a shame since landing up there would be way cool. I inspected the high points and found them to be, like everyplace else, quite snowy. No tracks to be seen, so it must not be popular with the snowmobile or ski crowds. On the descent down the west side, I found a Cool Rock™ spire just east of Horse Mountain. Plenty more of those to come.

I had been a passenger flying into GJT before, but never landed myself. My gauges were reading about Gas O’Clock so I figured I’d fill the tanks there as well. Tower was gracious enough to let me land long and cut the taxi to self-serve from two miles down to one. Some time and reasonably priced liquid later, I was taxiing out for departure. Winds favored runway 11 by a lot, so I endured the long trip back to its arrival end. While musing about larger tires and meh forward visibility of my airplane, I noticed a line on the ground across my taxiway. Strange, I’m only at A2, not A1. Guess I turn here? I had these thoughts just in time to pivot my airplane and see the taxiway light I would’ve eaten for breakfast, had I continued straight. There was a painted closure “X” as well, but this and the light were totally invisible behind my nose while on center line. I’m sure the jets and Skyhawks see it just fine, but us taildraggers gotta be vigilant.

After a run up and check in with tower, I watched some flight school traffic touch and go before being cleared on course, clear for takeoff runway 11. That was great, since the runway is pointed southeast and I want to be going north. Tower, however, did not appreciate my turning out at 700 feet, as it created a conflict with his (bomber) pattern traffic. I stayed low, they flew in a circle, and all was well, but it had me wondering—if I get a clearance on course, when do they expect me to turn? Rifle?

From here my personal map was blank. I’d never touched the very northwest corner of my home state, and after all the to-do about the splash-ins at Kenny Res, I was excited to start there. The Roan Plateau was plenty gorgeous, the mesas and hills crisscrossed by two-tracks I could see myself getting absolutely lost in.

Dropping down the valley, Rangely came into view and I considered my choice of runways. A comment on the Foreflight page for the airport (something I always read, despite their varied usefulness) urged caution for rising terrain to the east. I considered, then remembered the reservoir, and made a happy, slipping approach to runway 7. It appeared that there might’ve once been a crossing runway, but not anymore. I picked the tail back up and climbed away.

Next was a short hop over to Meeker. Again, aside from there being a VOR around, I knew nothing of the place. I dropped in behind a Centurion for runway 21, and found another long, wide strip of pavement. Compared to last trip, these airports were in fantastic shape! Having touch’d, I go’d, turning early to avoid a veterinary practice just off the runway end. This turn came all the way around two a view of two valleys. To the west, a paved road climbed north towards the towns of Axial and Lloyd. The eastern road changed to dirt, then climbed along some power lines the same direction, meeting the pavement again near Hamilton. I opted to go east, to enjoy the views of Pagoda Peak and some of the Flat Tops Wilderness. Aside from getting my shit rocked down low and needing to climb high, the sights did deliver.
Craig ended up being less noteworthy than my other stops, far away from town and not close to meaningful terrain. All I can remember noticing was some construction work along the river. Onward to home, with a kicking tailwind!

The forecast had called for stronger surface winds as the day continued, and that seemed to be coming somewhat true in places. Hayden and Steamboat reported light breezes, and the ride over Walton Peak and Rabbit Ears Pass was uneventful. I checked on some backcountry ski spots and noted they were heavily tracked, even this late in the season. Nice. But then I turned my attention east and noticed the sky had filled up with lenticular clouds—nature’s “DO NOT ENTER” signs. That ruled out my planned route over Rocky Mountain National Park and Milner Pass, as well as returning to Rollins Pass from this morning. That left going north through the Walden area, and cutting east through a gap in the Medicine Bow Mountains. I turned that way and resigned myself to 15 minutes of getting slapped around by the winds. It obliged, as I listened to the Walden AWOS describe winds at 18 gusting 23. Not great, but much better than bouncing my head off the ceiling at 13,500’.

Crossing the gap north of King’s Canyon, I narrowly avoided visiting Wyoming while admiring some more Cool Rocks™ near expensive looking houses. Turbulence stayed in the bearable range as I made the turn towards Crystal Lakes and headed south toward home. The AWOS said something about gusty winds, halfway lined up with the runway. Sure, why not. But as I swung into the downwind, I noticed the sock was absolutely perpendicular to my pavement. To make matters worse, I saw a couple apparently walking their dog along the grass runway, my tailwheel-preferred alternative. Sure, I could have used my Superior Pilot Skills™ to make an impressive crosswind landing on the pavement and wow the flight school folks…but I could just as easily breakdance my Stinson into the weeds and break stuff. So, I opted for the grass, and hoped the folks below knew what a leash was. One bouncy, yet short landing later, I was taxiing to the hangar. The dog walkers were not impressed, but I had introduced thoughts about short lengths of rope attaching them to their pet. And using the city dog park literally on airport property, a quarter mile to the north!

All in all, I spent around 5.5 hours flying, covered some 475 miles, and 4 new airports to my logbook. At long last, southwest corner next.

Mounting flying looks fun. (and bumpy)

Looking forward to the next installment!

She's a beaut, Clark! Sorry, had to pry into your pics wondering what aircraft you're flying.

SmokeyTheBear wrote:Mounting flying looks fun. (and bumpy)

Looking forward to the next installment!

It can be, especially this time of year! We've had a heaping helping of wind for the last few weeks. Fingers crossed it chills out this month.

Zzz wrote:She's a beaut, Clark! Sorry, had to pry into your pics wondering what aircraft you're flying.

Thank you! I've been meaning to put up my favorite shot of her, from a visit to Westcliffe, CO. She's my baby!

TCJ, I always enjoy your narrative & pics about the local history of your area.
Thanks for posting them, and please continue to do so.

hotrod180 wrote:TCJ, I always enjoy your narrative & pics about the local history of your area.
Thanks for posting them, and please continue to do so.

Thanks Hotrod. I actually posted it in the wrong thread. Right OP but I meant to post in the Trail Running thread. Z is going to move it for me.

The pics of the train of cones south of Trinidad (Raton) is really interesting. The entire crust is getting pulled westward and southward like a carpet over the 'stationary' hot magma chamber with periodic eruptions in a few different epochs ranging from just a few tens of thousands of years ago to 9 million years ago. Colorado was roughly mostly where Wyoming is now. The San Luis has a similar chain, about 20 Myr older, with surface motion from north to south and was further north than when the Raton chain was active. The southern Idaho chains all the way to Yellowstone are formed similarly, and aged mostly on between the other two, but also more recently. It's possible that regional volcanism in the area was witnessed by native populations present in the most recent activity. Things move a lot when the right time scale is chosen. The rocks in the Sangres were likely deposited when Colorado was possibly closer in latitude to present day Argentina. Time flies. And we get to behold it from the air while burning juice made of fermented and cooked wee beasties and algae, albeit at a rate roughly a million times faster than it has been made over the past couple hundreds of millions of years.

My last corner of Colorado was all set up to be a lovely two-day adventure. Day one would involve flying from home down to Salida, Alamosa, and across the Pagosa-Durango-Cortez stretch of the state line before camping out at Dolores Point. Then on day two, I could loaf my way back across the state while tagging the last few airports north of Montrose without worry of afternoon winds/storms/sunburn. Unfortunately, I could not find two days next to each other with decent weather no matter how I twisted things. Colorado finally remembering that Spring is a rainy season did not help matters. So, I took the next best option—do it all in one go!

As usual, I broke ground just ahead of the Sun, and began admiring the pink colors of the Boulder Flatirons and Front Range peaks farther on. Passing Jeffco I received my first jolt of turbulence. So early in the day? This better not set the tone for the day, foreshadowing the constant need for tight lap belts and headset shaped bruising!

My first destination of the day was the same as planned, Salida. I elected to loosely follow Hwy 285 up into the South Park area, where a gorgeous undercast covered all but the pointiest rocks jutting up from the plain. I’ve always loved this area, and on less cloudy days tend to drift over the pair of charted private strips inhabiting the area, as well as the intriguing paved runway that remains uncharted. Today I simply aimed at Trout Creek Pass and motored on.

If you’re high enough to cross the high plains out here, you’re already higher than Trout Creek. It just isn’t that tall, as Colorado mountain passes go. So having a bit of extra altitude, I cut south early over the south ridge and dropped into the valley for Salida. The runway itself isn’t terribly special—long, paved, and only somewhat sloped. But locals know all about the huge downdrafts on final for 24, and how rising terrain to the west makes departures that way tight. With all that in mind, I made a high approach to 24, landed long, and lazily taxied to the other end for a downhill departure. In no-wind conditions, this was a breeze! [drum hit]

I pointed south again for Poncha Pass, which went without incident. It’s not an overly high pass either, but does narrow a lot at the bottom. I elected to stay high up on the right side just in case. Granite Mountain Lodge passed under my wing, but for the life of me I couldn’t find it. Not that I’m likely to be invited, but a guy can dream. I hugged the west “wall” of mountains around until crossing over the top of a Louisiana-shaped ridgeline northeast of Saguache.

Saguache (which I pronounced “Sah-watch” on the radio, apologies to those who know better) might be the best kept gravel strip I’ve had the pleasure of landing on. Plenty long, wide enough, and perfectly graded. I almost regretted putting tire marks on it! It even has digital AWOS, which is pretty impressive. I didn’t see a place to park airplanes, but a rough doubletrack off the east end led to the main road, so one could conceivably go explore town that way. Google maps showed a pizza joint with good reviews, but I still had a lot of avgas to burn and finite daylight to do so.

Twenty miles later I visited Leach. It seemed to me like the quintessential duster strip—run down farm equipment scattered about, easy access from local fields, an Ag hangar with cool paint. What stood out was a set of grandstands between the ramp and the runway! Evidently this airport does double duty as a drag strip some days. It was deserted at the moment, so I left before I got run down by something that could actually catch me. Shortly after I passed over some very sandy, circular, farm fields. I’m not sure their crops were just underneath, or perhaps the roots don’t mind in the sandy dirt? Perks of being a pilot, I can let farmers handle their own business.

Alamosa was another short hop away, and I curved overhead to check things out before entering the downwind. There appeared to be a crossing dirt runway, so I called up the folks in the FBO to see “if there’s any reason I couldn’t give it a try.” They called back to say the thing had been “un-certified,” which was a long enough word to stay my curiosity. Instead, I gave runway 20 its latest mediocre touch and go, before turning west.

Monte Vista immediately made up for the lack of interesting landing surfaces before. This wonderful airport has a fine collection of 3 (maybe 4?) runways, only one of which is paved. After an inspection pass, I elected to use 34, and waved politely to the farmer looking up from his horses under final approach. Pillow soft sand met me at 0 AGL, and I rolled onto the ramp for some gas and a bathroom break. I was pleasantly surprised again by a well-kept, if empty, pilot shack with all the essentials. This included a “sleep room” (with no curtains) and a twin size bed for waiting out thunderstorms and the like.

I took off from Monte Vista much heavier with gas but pleased—the day had gone swimmingly thus far, and the best part was just ahead! Creede had been on my radar for a long time, as it ticked all my boxes. High elevation? Check. Surrounded by mountains? Check. Scenic mountain trails begging to be explored on foot and by air? Check! I was doing great on sticking to my plan, following the road and rail up past Del Norte, Wagon Wheel Gap, and nearly had the airport, when I was distracted by a jeep road off my right wing. I’ll just take a sec and check this out… Before I knew it, I was up over Halfmoon Pass, Oooh-ing and Aaaah-ing over San Luis Peak, Wheeler Natl. Monument, and the long, long plateau that would be oh-so-landable if it wasn’t Forest Service land.

After many circles and pictures, I tore myself away and coasted into Creede from the north. I was just in time to watch a friendly Cessna make their departure, back the way I had come. I took a minute on landing to scope out the pilot shack and facilities, before blasting back off to the West. Like Arnold said, I’ll be baack!

The valley curved south, and in my climb I followed it. My plan was to follow an old dirt road on the chart up and over to the Piedra River area, passing by Pagosa Peak and some others on the way. I certainly passed that way, but it was peak to peak navigation since the road was entirely snow covered…duh! At this point the sky was showing the beginnings of puffy Cu’s, but the bumps here weren’t any more severe than what I’d flown through thus far. I descended into Pagosa Springs with no traffic and no problems for a relaxed no-flap landing.

Crossing some bumpy ridges, I finally caught sight of Durango and its smaller airport, Animas. I’d visited DRO plenty for work, and it was characteristically busy with helicopters, fixed wing instruction, and airliners. Overflying the approach end at 2000’ gave me a comfortable bit of elbow room before dropping into the pattern with a Maule and Cessna at Animas. This began the windiest, bumpiest part of the day for me. I slipped onto final for 19 and was having a grand time watching the ground on the approach end come up to meet me when I noticed the wind sock was straight out. This doesn’t pose a problem most of the time--the Stinson has fantastic aileron and rudder control at low speeds, and I happen to enjoy practicing crosswind landings. The bigger problem was the mechanical turbulence. I was full aileron early, and glued the tail down way ahead of normal just to avoid a close inspection of the local flora.

Another quick refuel led to my meeting with a friendly Maule pilot, who was fresh off a trip back from AZ. Him having bush tires and a big engine, I asked if he’d been to my only remaining question mark of the day—Dove Creek. He remarked that the last time he’d been in, the weeds had been tall enough to grab his wings, which gave me some pause as I’d left my lawn mower home this time. I thanked him and departed, only take off in the squirreliest winds I can remember since buying my airplane. Dancing off of both rudder stops, eventually resorting to brakes! I haven’t had to use brakes on takeoff since I was getting chased out of Rock Springs, WY by a thunderstorm. Despite it all, we stayed straight long enough to get airspeed, and I climbed out for a downwind departure to the west. Here I saw what the locals must already know. The reservoir west of the airport is perfectly situated to funnel west winds across the narrow, tree bounded runway and hangars. Add in the steep drop to the highway east of the field, and you get conditions like tap dancing in a tornado. I think I’ll save this one for calmer days going forward…

Passing Mesa Verde National Park, I sighted Cortez. I didn’t have any real thoughts about the place, and still don’t. The folks in the FBO were nice enough to give me a wind readout since the ASOS was down, but otherwise it was a short straight in to the south before pulling a U-turn back north towards Dove Creek.

I was relieved as I approached to see that I was still passing the traffic on highway 491 below. With the winds as they were, I was having to crab towards Blanding just to get a northerly track. It was around this time I made my first call on 122.9, and was surprised to hear a voice from above. A gentleman ferrying an experimental way up high was evidently paying attention to his ADS-B, and called to ask what I was up to. He told me he was headed east, and we both lamented the sorry state of scenery in Nebraska.

My first pass over Dove Creek revealed the XL weeds, thankfully growing just in select sections of the runway. By landing after the first 300’ and staying right of the centerline thereafter, I could avoid them entirely (this ended up being true for landing either direction). I also noticed the surface transitioned to dirt on the south side, which was rather full of gopher holes. I’d have to taxi carefully. The remainder was a bumpy mix of medium to high grasses. Since my prop wasn’t green after, I’ll have to assume they were within height limits. I picked my spot, glided down to it, and rolled down to taxi speed. So far so good. Taxiing on the west side kept me away from the tall plants, and I made it all the way to the dirt taxiway turnoff before rolling over a gopher pile and bonking my head on the ceiling. Dangit.

What I did not expect as I considered shutting down to stretch my legs was a large black dog sprinting toward me. No person wants to turn a dog to pink mist with their propeller, so I let my Lycoming do the talking. A quick blast of high-rpms was enough to turn the dog around, where he rejoined his buddy in defecating in the grass. I opted then to spin myself around and continue north, dodging gopher holes and weeds until out of ground effect and the cattails’ reach. I hope to come back this way one day and give the strip some love, but I’ll have to find a solution for the local canines first.

An uncomfortable moment occurred while climbing out however, as full power+Vy+best power leaning was suddenly resulting in -200fpm. This is all well and good while negotiating high mountain passes at 2000’ or more AGL, but at 300’ I was less comfy. In hindsight, this must have resulted from the strong west wind sliding into the nearby canyon of the Dolores River. After a long 3-5 seconds, I passed back into rising air and went on my way.

Dolores Point had been crossed off the list for visiting as soon as the winds came up, so I cruised around 70nm over to Westwinds. I say “around” because I was for some reason incapable of holding a heading during this section, and wandered a good 15 miles downwind. I’ll go ahead and blame it on being attracted to the tallest landmark in the area, which in this case inhabited the ridgeline east of Hopkins Field (I’ve visited here a few times on adventures towards AZ, NV, etc).

Westwinds appeared to be a fly-in community built on the Moon. Grey sand and rock everywhere. With a hefty crosswind out of the north, I elected to land west and depart east, although in hindsight it would’ve been more fun to use the crossing north/south runway. Blake field looked…not interesting. I made a very expeditious wheel landing here without so much as putting the tail down. Headed east from Blake are approximately one gazillion private fields, and I made a solid effort to identify the charted ones. This probably resulted in a fifty percent success rate.

North Fork came into view before too long, and I was amazed to see it was cut out on top of a plateau! So fun! With the same strong, gusty wind being straight down the runway, all I had to do was enjoy the elevator ride down final. I had a similar experience next door at Crawford, although a parallel grass runway made things even better. This one felt even more like landing on an aircraft carrier due to the proximity of the houses and downward slope to the West. It was after taking off, as I was looking back to get a nice view of the drop-off, that I realized I had just done it—every airport in my state. Now I just had to get back!

What I haven’t mentioned since Pagosa were the clouds. They’d been building all day, but the afternoon sun had conspired with the wind to build large, mountain-shaped clouds full of rain and death where I had planned to go. Plans A through C involved the I-70 corridor, Steamboat to North Park, or just flying the Wyoming border. All of which were now covered in radar returns and virga. Thankfully, Gunnison was within reach, and with it a path back to where I started at Salida. Now hold on! I thought to myself as I crossed the Black Mesa head east You’ve been flying for two and a half hours, and a little elementary math says you’ve got to get gas! So I looked at Gunni— holy smokes, seven bucks a gallon!? I redid my math, this time with a calculator and some less general numbers. Landing with exactly one hour of fuel. Perfect, thanks massive westerly winds!

I tightened my belts and split the difference between Monarch and Marshall Pass, earning some real knockers of turbulence but saving ten minutes of gas. A quick coast into Salida to refill showed me a whole different world of performance compared to the morning. A wind sock at full extension had me in slow motion down to the runway, and putting double chocks on my Stinson’s tires. I did take a minute before gassing up to poke my nose in a hangar with another Stinson inside—this being a -3 with an O-540 up front. Very nice. Some cheap fuel later, I was departing 24 into a stiff headwind before turning northeast for home.

Aside from the usual bumps and some virga, I didn’t have much to worry about until passing Jeffco again. Tower called it “light to moderate rain” but I just called it a nice bath. With a few less bugs attached, I landed back home and closed the hangar on another adventure.

9 hours in the seat, ~550 miles, 14 new airports. Next up…?