DAY ONE

I took off for New Mexico at 0500, well before the sun rose. After letting myself through Jeffco’s airspace and getting permission to pass through Centennial’s, I was finally free of controllers and airspace worries for a while. I took some of the cruise time before dawn to eat a healthy breakfast (chocolate doughnut) and tweak my rudder trim. The bungee trim system on older Stinsons with newer engines is not ideal, and never really feels ‘dead on’ to my feet. As the morning light slowly came on, I found myself unsure whether the white ground cover below was snow, or an early morning fog layer. Increasing light proved it was just snow on the plateaus, which was a small relief. Regardless, the sun made its appearance just as I crossed the border. It was perfect timing, as I had lovely terrain below to gaze at in the morning light. I spotted Mt. Dora and some of the more distant, western peaks in the amber light. Clayton, the first airport of the day, beckoned.

Starting here in the northeast corner of the state, my plan was to zig-zag north to south a total of 6 times as a method of visiting each of NM’s many airports. The north-south oriented mountain ranges shaped the locations of the state’s cities, which in turn shaped the location of their airports into nice, semi-orderly lines. The few airports I skipped (AXX, SAF, ABQ, GNT, and E98) I had already visited on previous work and travel adventures, and each has plenty of memories. I smoked the brakes of a Citation in SAF when our thrust reversers were out (“the book said we could do it…”). I was stuck in the middle of the night at Mid-Valley by a snowstorm, and rescued by an extremely kind local who took me in for the night. Grants has a cool display showing the old air mail arrows in the area, as well as super neat volcanic terrain to the west. Angel Fire has great summer hiking. And Albuquerque…is fine.

Back at Clayton, I fueled up and wandered into the FBO building for a bathroom break. I poached a NM chart from the desk in case my iPad died, and found a nice kitchen and dance hall area in the back. Perhaps a local community gathering place? Regardless, the sign on the wall stated “All events end at midnight.” Perhaps there is a story there. I started back up and took off for Tucumcari. Along the way was the Ute Reservoir and a private airport called Runway Bay. It was a pretty neat looking spot to land, but also had the look of a gated community built around a golf course in the desert. Not my scene. Tucumcari seemed adequate from the air and the ground, and I gave it a touch and go landing before moving on southeast.

Part of my routine between airports usually went something like this: I take off and get on heading/altitude for the next airport. Once established in cruise, I review my notes and notams about the upcoming field so as to be refreshed on the details. Then I listen to the weather if they have it, and plan my pattern. This usually ends up with a cross midfield to spot the windsock regardless, followed by a downwind to the appropriate runway. Clovis Regional was next, and with it came an AWOS and an interesting notam—the grass runway 8/26 was closed, but only Monday—Friday. I might be a pilot, be even I can understand that such a restriction leaves weekends open! I gave the strip a low approach, then a drag, and finally a full stop landing. It was in great shape! A few gopher holes here and there, some little bumps now and then, but it still made some of Colorado’s strips look downright abandoned. An airport Ops vehicle was on frequency driving around, so I asked them about it. Word is, management doesn’t like how much upkeep the little strip needs, and wants to close it. Thus, the notam. I gave him my glowing review, and was on my way, though not before expressing my hopes that they’d hang onto it a little longer. Compared to repaving, crack filling, and other pavement related costs, mowing and leveling dirt seems downright cheap to me…

I flew on to Portales, my next fuel stop, but not before attempting to check in with Cannon AFB. I’d be passing real close to their airspace, and since the drones the chart warned me about don’t have real eyes, I thought it’d be prudent. To my surprise, they were closed! The field, tower, all of it. No drones today. Oddly enough, my marker beacon decided to go off at full volume as I passed…despite not exactly being on the ILS 31 course. Strange.

I moseyed on to a windy-gusty landing at Portales. I self-served, visited their bathroom facilities, and was about to leave when I noticed an Air Tractor. They were working a field just west of the airport, making nice sweeping turns back and forth. I decided to depart south on the crosswind runway so as not to be in their way. This turned out to be a fun decision, as the windy-gusty conditions I mentioned earlier had me wrangling poor Betsy like a bronco before getting airborne. This would be the first of many such experiences with the wind.

I followed a highway south out of town, dodging the local wind turbines. It occurred to me just how unbelievably flat things were getting. For the first time all day, I couldn’t see mountains or buttes in any direction. How depressing. The next airport on my list was Tatum, a small single runway field in what could be charitably described as “between the middle of nowhere and the edge of civilization.” Foreflight comments called it “abandoned” and I couldn’t dispute that for a second. Grass grew in runway cracks, and it thrived on the ramp. I spooked an owl of some sort out of one of the four empty looking hangars. At least someone was making use of them. Tatum also had the first missing wind sock of the trip. I wondered how long its crossing runway had been closed, and how long its main one would hold out. I moved on.

Lea County / Zip Franklin Memorial was the first of three “Lea” airports. While I think “Lovington” for the town next door or simply “Zip” would be fine, the name was the only memorable part. Lea County Regional (Hobbs) was the first towered field I’d land at, and was kind enough to allow my brief touch and go visit to 22. Finally, I made it to Lea County / Jal, which I decided to just call “Jal.” It was the most memorable of the three, as the crosswind runway was short enough to be interesting and pointed me west towards my next destination on departure. All three of these airports were some variety of “windy-gusty” which made both landings and cruising between them draining. I took advantage of the longer cruise leg to Carlsbad to enjoy my lunch: peanut butter sandwich, goldfish crackers, and a homemade brownie. Yum.

Carlsbad, or Cavern City Air Terminal if you’re a Marketing type, was determined to give me the full experience. The most convenient runway for a refuel was 14L/32R, but it and the north half of the ramp were closed. Another friendly Skyhawk was enjoying the pattern on 8, so I fell in with them for a landing and headed for the fuel pumps. After filling back up, I pushed Betsy out to a safe corner of the ramp and walked into the terminal. And surprise, surprise—it really was set up like an airline terminal! Contour apparently operates jet flights to Albuquerque and Denver from here. Signs on the door stated that only Authorized Personnel were allowed on the ramp, but I felt authorized enough not to worry about it. I started up just in time to avoid a Contour jet, back taxied over to runway 21, and gave the Skyhawk a score on his latest short field landing before blasting off northbound.

Artesia Municipal doesn’t seem like much on the surface. Two crossing runways, in good shape, and an AWOS. But just north of the field is a large training center for Federal Agents—complete with multiple fun-looking driving courses and three 727s! Neat! I made my landing on 13 to get a better look at the jets, then moved on to Roswell. Their ATIS stated that arrivals should contact approach first, which I found odd for a Class D airport. But both they and Tower were in great moods, and I enjoyed talking to each before coasting in for a landing. Of course, there’s a boatload of jets parked out in the boneyard to eyeball from the pattern as well. No alien spacecraft on the ramp, however, so I moved on.
Fort Sumner had one of the more interesting Foreflight comments of the trip, with 8/26 being described as a “goat ranch.” Naturally, I had to investigate. I set up for 26, and bounced along in the gusty, choppy winds. I pleasantly surprised to see that aside from grasses growing through the cracks, the runway was perfectly usable. Now I’m rolling along on 8.50 size tires, so certainly an RV or similar on hockey pucks would have a worse time. But comments like these, saying “the farm field next door is in better shape” always annoy me, because it adds unnecessary stress and drives away pilots from perfectly usable facilities. Oh and NASA had a big hangar there too, which was neat. Apparently they’re putting on a Scientific Balloon Program from the airport.

As I passed Lake Sumner, fatigue was starting to set in. I was getting real tired of bouncing my head off the ceiling, and with my next stop at Santa Rosa reporting gusts in the 30 knot range, I knew it was only a matter of time before I started making mistakes. I decided to cut my day slightly short and, after visiting Santa Rosa, continue on to Las Vegas (still New Mexico!) before ending my day at Conchas Lakes. I was technically ahead of schedule and had wanted to knock out Raton and Springer before returning to Conchas to camp for the night. But the wind and turbulence were brutal. I struggled through a landing at Santa Rosa, where winds were variable between 170 and 300 degrees at 20 gusting 30. A local law enforcement vehicle was stopped at the airport fence, and must’ve had quite the show as I wiggled down the runway on between one and two wheels.

I then fought the headwinds directly on the “short” hop over to Vegas. Though recent visitors commented about not having fuel, the NOTAM had been lifted and I was able to get self-serve without issue, as well as take a momentary shelter from the wind. The last leg of my day had undoubtedly the best groundspeed, touching 140 knots on my easterly heading. I passed a spectacular looking ranch airstrip on a mesa, with a long, paved runway and incredible views in every direction. Ironically, the FAA remarks stated “owner desires airport not to be charted” despite it being very prominent on the sectional. It wasn’t long before I found myself over Conchas Lake, and joining a downwind for runway 27.

Conchas Lake airport is in good shape. The runway slopes slightly uphill to the west, and at the end has a large area with chains for tying down. However, the problems began before I even shut down. The wind had not abated since leaving Vegas, and I found that turning away from it was challenging. Upon getting out to tie down, I had to immediately grab a strut and hold on for dear life, lest my airplane visit the next county! In between gusts I was able to spin Betsy around to park tail into the wind, with the flaps locked down per Stinson-guru guidance. Once chocked, I went to use the provided chains, only to find that they had no hooks! Perhaps you, the reader, know how to make use of chains like this, but I was stressed and tired and clueless. While pondering, Betsy jumped her chocks and I had to chase down her tail and struggle back into the wind toward the tie downs. This time I parked her into the wind, stick tied back and used my own ropes to secure her to the earth. This seemed to be holding for the moment, but every gust of wind rocked her wings against the ropes and had me bracing for another chase.

The plan had originally been to ride my folding bike about a mile from the ramp to the local park campground, and pay the $10 for a site. But it became immediately obvious I couldn’t go that route. Not only was I not confident in my windy-weather tent erecting skills, but I knew every gust would have me picturing Betsy breaking free of her ropes and ending upside-down in a ditch. I broke out the folding bike and went riding, looking for a place safe from the wind that I could tie down in. As luck would have it, one of the airport residents was out and about. After a few phone calls, it was determined I could use an empty quonset hangar for the night. Initially I wasn’t feeling any better about this than my previous location, as the hangar lacked real tie downs and instead had very spread-out D-rings on either side. I was forced to rely on a pair of ratchet straps for one wing and two of my ropes for the other, with no option for the tail.

After some tweaks, however, this system proved effective. I had been considering taking back off for Albuquerque, where the wind was less than 10 knots and hangars abound (for a price). But the idea of bouncing around for hours, directly into the headwinds I had just ridden on to get there, sounded exhausting. As night fell and the sun went down, the winds also subsided to a meager 15 knots. I elected to make camp in the quonset next to Betsy, and enjoyed dinner with views of the starry sky outside. I then gave Betsy an oil refill, repacked what gear I could, and nodded off in my tent for some rest before another full day.

Enormous thanks to the folks at Conchas for saving my bacon! They found me a haven from the wind, helped me tie, untie, and move the airplane, and even gave me some drinks for the road. The aviation community is a good one.

Day One Stats: 846nm, 11 hours of flying, and 15 landings.

DAY TWO

I woke up before sunrise feeling generally rested and refreshed. My previous plan of zig-zags across the state was out—rain was headed to the southwestern side of the state, so if I wanted to hit those airports, I needed to do it sooner than later. I devised a U-shaped path from Conchas down to the El Paso area, then across to Lordsburg before heading north. I hadn’t worked out where I would camp for the night yet, but figured it would become more obvious once I could gauge my progress around midday.

I packed up and was airborne just after sunrise, breaking the calm morning with Betsy’s proud, four-cylinder roar. To the southwest lay Vaughn Municipal, airport number one of the day. There wasn’t much going on at Vaughn that morning, so my visit was limited to touch and go to the west. Flying south through the forest of wind turbines, a huge peak came into view and immediately had my attention. The Sierra Blanca mountains are partially a Wilderness Area, partially a ski resort, and all around gorgeous. After a quick touch and go at Carrizozo Municipal (which had a nice dirt strip) I couldn’t resist climbing up to 12,000 feet and checking out the peak. Things looked sad at the ski area, with not much snow and only the gondola running. But I did notice a lovely trail that looped up to the peak and along the ridge to the south. I’ll be back to run that some time!

A leisurely descent into Sierra Blanca Regional set me up nicely for a fun landing on runway 12. The nearby terrain made this a fun approach, however I was slightly unnerved by how close the ramp light poles were to the threshold. Regardless, the gentleman working the Unicom was kind enough to give me weather on the way in, which was a nice surprise. I headed back west towards Alamogordo, climbing up and over the ridge before dropping into the basin containing White Sands.

Alamogordo has one of the nicest, most pillow soft dirt runways I had the pleasure of using all trip. Stopping in at Exile Aviation later, I was informed that it was popular with gliders and taildraggers alike, and is thus well kept. I took the opportunity at the FBO to clean up, reapply sunscreen, and clean Betsy’s windshield. We collected a lot of bug corpses on our journey thus far, and it was starting to get in the way of my picture taking. One top off of 100LL later, we were off again, leaving a cloud of blown dust on the runway. The mountains rise up from 4200 feet in the basin to nearly 10,000’ in just a few miles. Betsy put her best Vy climb to work, and we managed to get up without needing to circle, but I did add in some sightseeing over the Sunspot Solar Observatory. The tallest white structure, the Dunn Solar Telescope, is an engineering marvel but unfortunately is set to be demolished due to its age and leaking liquid mercury. Fortunately, it seems other observatory equipment in the area will carry on in the location.

Of course, the reason for climbing up this high was also to visit Timberton, a lovely little airport situated between the mountains and a cutout in the White Sands Restricted airspace. One way in, one way out. Chip and seal paving. No services, and not a soul to be seen on landing. Naturally, I loved it. The winds had picked up somewhat on arrival, making for an easy landing. I rolled along and admired all the cabins alongside the runway with hangars. What a lovely place to live, or have a cabin. Departure performance was a bit of a concern on the way out, but turned out to be no real issue—Betsy held Vy+10 easily through the turbulence on climb-out, and cleared the trees with all sorts of room. I would love to come back and stay a few days in this place.

The real issue was convincing myself not to immediately turn into the Restricted area after clearing the airport area, as the windshield made it look quite inviting! I held off until well north of the boundary, then cruised west to pick up highway 54 down to El Paso. Dozens of military trucks dusted off the side road while cars zipped along the highway. Betsy made them all look slow. I couldn’t help but think back to my days in the Cub, when cars were the ones doing the passing.

Now El Paso isn’t in NM, but it is along the way to Dona Ana County International Jetport. I used its DME to judge when I was clear of the Restricted airspace, then turned west to cross the Franklin Mountains. These looked a bit like the familiar Flatirons of home in Colorado, though longer and much drier. Dropping in towards Dona Ana, I ran into the first and only bit of traffic congestion of the whole trip. Three slowpokes, me, and a Meridian turboprop all called up around the same time trying to land from different directions. Luckily we all had different ideas of what size a pattern ought to be, so we were naturally separated before anybody got visual with anybody else. I kept things in tight, the Meridian flew a bomber pattern, and a yahoo in a Cessna flew their straight in, cutting off another Skyhawk doing laps. Typical. I was happy to blast off north from there to Las Cruces.

LRU had a few neat old birds on the ramp, but otherwise didn’t hold my attention beyond a landing. Deming was next, and here I caught up with a fellow who’d left Don Ana when I did and was doing laps. We collectively marveled at some dust devils just off the final approach course, before I bounced and went west again for Lordsburg. Here again, some Foreflight comments had stated the dirt runway was closed. For shame! However, I had called ahead and was told it was back open for business. I’m not sure what work had been done, considering the north half’s center was rather grown over and the threshold appeared to double as the town’s tire disposal pile. But hey, it beats pavement!

I fueled up next at Grant County, known by some as Silver City. This place has no shortage of dirt runways in addition to the pavement, and with gusty winds back in action I took full advantage of runway 17. During the fuel up, it occurred to me that I might not have enough oil on hand to complete my adventure. I had brought three quarts, and already used two after the previous day’s flying. That left me three quarts short. I scoured the FBO for oil to buy, to no avail. “But surely another of my fuel stops today will have some!” I made a sandwich, noted the shower present in the FBO, and took back off for a quick hop north.

Whiskey Creek is a neat paved strip on the top of a plateau, which overlooks the real Silver City, as well as other mining towns in the area. I landed south, and gave some roofing workers a show rolling down the runway on one wheel. Impressive or silly, it was necessary to keep straight with the winds as gusty as ever.

I had a longer stretch between Whiskey Creek and my next destination, Glenwood. I snacked on crackers and had a chat with Flight Service, then later Albuquerque Center about the many MOAs in the area. Luckily the pertinent ones were cold–although for some reason neither agency seemed to know much about the Smitty MOA. It underlies the Cato MOA to the north. I rambled on to Glenwood, and had a lovely time on their dirt runway. Another private grass strip lies directly north (no really, they share a fence) and I appreciated greatly having a nice clear approach and wind sock directly on final. From here it was north to Reserve, a paved strip with close-ish hills and a slight slope. It was windy enough that I wasn’t bothered by the gradient, and simply made a full stop taxi back. Apparently, I visited at just the right time, as Reserve is set to close for runway and facility repair later this month.

According to the FAA information on Jewitt Mesa, this strip is closed October through April. Likely, this is because snow and rain make for soft conditions on the remote field, and the Forest Service, who owns it, wants to avoid additional rescue missions for stranded pilots. Now I can neither confirm nor deny touching down at this strip, but I can say the strip appeared pillow-soft. It seemed to be in great condition, and may indeed be a joy to land at. But one would just have to land there to know for sure. Outside the seasonal closure.

Andrew Othole sounds like a cool name for a cool guy. His airport wasn’t that interesting though, just a strip of pavement with a porta-potty. Curious how the Class E airspace of the area isn’t centered here though—it’s centered on the old closed airport on the other side of town.
I found Gallup to be another “just fine” stop. The self-serve worked “just fine.” The FBO was “just fine” despite the long walk from the fuel pumps. And the runway was alright too. It just didn’t leave any real interesting impression. BESIDES NOT HAVING OIL EITHER. Shoot.

Crownpoint was another fine strip of pavement with nothing else to mention. I really don’t know why people come here. Is there a place to eat in town? Nearby recreation? Perhaps it’s a good place to base fire fighting planes? I don’t know, but the lack of anything besides a runway leaves me curious.

It was getting to the end of another long day by now, and I was running out of daylight. I passed a few dry lakebeds that looked intriguing along the way to Shiprock Airstrip, but otherwise just admired the vast nothing. Long shadows cast by Shiprock and its smaller neighbors looked very cool from the air, and I watched folks driving along on the way to visit the rocks. I wondered what they thought of the little old airplane coming in, taking a lap on a runway they likely never noticed, then zipping off to the east.

Farmington tower was friendly as can be, and I set up for a downwind to 25 just as a medivac king air blasted off. The view of town and the river cutting through was extra special with the sun low in the sky, and I squeaked out a mediocre landing before cranking out a northeast turn to Aztec Municipal. Like Farmington, this airport is also up high on a mesa, although with no tower and a closed crossing runway. I made it finally to Navajo Lake airport just as the final rays of sunset hit the runway. Another plateau airport, this one took me by surprise in another way—the huge dam off the east side was so very, very tall! No sooner had I cleared the end of the runway than the ground dropped away. Hundreds of feet down were the bottom of the dam, which ramped all the way back up to the height of the airport! It even had a road cut into the side of the dam! In the moment, this was very impressive to me, and I marvelled at the scale of such a project as it passed beneath my wing.

Now that darkness approached, I needed to find a campsite. One of my outs had been Navajo Lake, but the lack of cover and services there left me wanting. Instead, I pinned my hopes on a familiar field—Astronaut Ken Rominger, otherwise known as Del Norte. Sure, it was a touch out of the way, and technically across the border in southern Colorado. And of course, I had to cross either Wolf Creek or Cumbres Pass to get there. And it was getting dark. But the heated, enclosed RAF shelter there with a kitchen, bathroom, and wifi called my name. Why set up a cold tent in the windy dark when I could be warm and comfortable? Besides, RCV has fuel and good tie downs. Perhaps even oil! I climbed up as high as oxygen regulations would allow and cruised over Cumbres with a ripping tailwind, then turned north for a black hole approach to runway 24. The lights were a very, very welcome sight.

After fueling and tying down Betsy, I cooked a quick dinner and evaluated my plans for the final day. Rain was still projected for the southern half of the state, but more sparsely than before. All I had to do was make a run down the center of the state and high-tail it back before things got wet. Finally, my oil problem. I called around and found that Alamosa would have my coveted 100W Plus first thing in the morning. I went to bed tired, but happy.

Day Two Stats: 904nm, 12 hours, and 22 landings.

DAY THREE

I was untying Betsy when the Eastern sky turned pink. A restful night in the shelter had me ready to finish the trip, and I was off for Alamosa before the sun. A quick cruise along the highway led me to a right base for 20. Centric Aviation had my three quarts ready and waiting, leading to a quick fill up and go. By now the sun had fully lit up the mountains, making the return trip over Cumbres Pass much less stressful. I Ooh'd and Aaah'd over the snowy peaks, and noted only one car on the road over the pass. I tried to spot the tiny Eastside private strip, but it must be truly tucked up against the mountains, since I never spotted it.

The first landing of the day was at Jicarilla Apache Nation, and what a scenic place! Nestled in between gorgeous ridge lines and filled with both pine forests and green meadows, it was serene in the morning light. I circled once before a touch and go to the south.
Lindrith Airpark was next. A dirt strip outside what looked to be a small mining town, I found it to be overgrown with brush. There were also a pair of towers VERY close on the south side. While they were noted in the FAA remarks, I couldn't help but wonder why the patterns hadn't been both put on the north side. I made right traffic for 25, giving the runway a good pass and drag before committing. While it was perfectly landable, turning around presented an issue. The loose dirt paid no mind to my tailwheel's attempts at sharp steering! It was like taxiing in snow. Unlocking the tailwheel with some power did the trick, but I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to shut down and spin poor Betsy by hand! One final obstacle to note--there was an eight foot pole on the west end, up on a hill left of the runway edge. I can't imagine why someone would put such a thing there and not mark it, but if I return I'll be spray painting it orange at least.

All my research for this trip had told me Cuba would be the most challenging strip of the whole state. It was plenty long on paper, but was at an elevation of 6840 feet that doesn't necessarily mean much. Adding on, recent pireps called out large Arroyos (a new word for me) on the first third, and I was unsure if a landing there would be possible at all. I circled overhead first. Sure enough, I could see the wash crossing left to right along the early part of the runway. Brush here and there looked high. But a change in color of the dirt showed the final two thirds to be plenty dry, if a bit sandy. Multiple low approaches confirmed this, and I gave the section a long drag. I found that by landing in the light dirt and sashaying right along some vehicle tracks shortly after, I could make use of the best possible landing area. I finally came in slow, touched down on my spot, and rolled a short ways along the tracks. Piece of cake!

I decided to back taxi through the arroyo and turn around past it, then start my takeoff roll just after the arroyo for maximum distance available. To say Betsy bumped and swayed as we inches through the little wash would be an understatement! I was immensely grateful for my big-ish tires right about about then. We spun about, bumped slowly back through the arroyo, and pushed the power up. Betsy was off the ground with a third of the runway left!

Things mellowed out for a while here. I had second breakfast (pop tarts) and visited Double Eagle, before grabbing gas at Belen (pronounced Bell-Inn?). In the pilot shack there I found a copy of the 2024 New Mexico Airports Annual Review. It didn't look like the sort of document that was meant as a hand out, but I would love to get my hands on one as a way of shedding light on the future of some of these airports.

I made a brief visit to Socorro before climbing up yet another mountain range. The Magdalena mountains are very pretty, but the peaks are off limits due to a restricted area. What a shame, since the chart noted an observatory up top. I slid down the back side of the range, under the cutout in an MOA, before entering the pattern for the Magdalena airport. It's long, and got lovely smooth gravel--what more could you want?

Moving on to the south, I munched some lunch and considered my options at Truth or Consequences. I really wanted to play on the many, many dirt runways criss-crossing the field. But the looming clouds in the southwest sky put out a clear message: "Rain is coming, and you don't want to be here when it falls." I settled for two abbreviated laps on a pair of dirt runways before joining the highway back north to clearer skies.

Mountainair and Estancia airports both feature single, dirt runways facing east/west. Aside from that, neither has much to write home about, with one exception: Estancia has a junk shooting range at the East end. Truly innovative.

I wasn't thrilled on dialing up the Moriarty AWOS to discover the winds had returned in full. Plenty of steady with lots of gust. I opted to land west, and enjoyed a short landing roll before being buffeted all the way to the fuel pumps. It was at this point I knew Betsy needed more oil, and reluctantly opened the cowl. While I managed to get the majority of the quart in and keep the cowling from sailing away to Texas, it wasn't a fun process. Thank goodness for large chocks. As a side note--why do most airports only have tiny chocks on hand?? I visited countless self-serve stations where the supplied wheel chocks were barely suitable for my tailwheel!

Sandia Airpark Estates East is on the side of what I can only describe as one enormous gradient, uphill to the West. Calling it a hillside would be too small, and mountainsides tend to have peaks up top. That said, aside from the very long taxiway that preceded the runway threshold, it was like any airpark I'd ever seen. Plenty of neat houses, though I expect the wild winds were keeping most of the residents grounded.

Los Alamos is on the side of a dormant volcano. That's neat enough on its own, but once I had a look at the chart and realized the SCALE of said volcano, I was blown away. The local restricted area directly south of the field requires some attention on the way in, but staying north of the center line worked fine for me. What really stuck out was the way each tiny ridge coming off the mountain was like a finger, and how each finger was used for roads, housing, and trails. It's really something one needs to see in person to appreciate, and I found it fascinating. I made my landing west, rolled to the end, and spun about for an easterly departure. The downhill takeoff was a breeze, but the winds were anything but the "calm" advertised on the AWOS.

I took a minute to climb up over the old volcano. The scale of the caldera was IMMENSELY impressive from the air, and I can't wait to come back and check it out on foot. The ski resort looked to have decent snow, yet the other higher peaks were rather dry. Hard to say what makes one wetter than the other.

I coasted down to Ohkay Owingeh, which might just win the Coolest Name award for this trip. Recent reports on foreflight complained of close in terrain to the east, and a tall tower up north. I found the terrain to be interesting, but not all that close--though not every airplane performs the way Betsy does. We made a lap on the south runway, bemoaned the closure of the cool looking crosswind runway, and headed north. The tower was indeed tall, but the lights and paint on today's radio towers work wonders on visual avoidance.

Taos is a boring jetport with long runways, weather, and services out the wahzoo. The land around Taos, of course, is spectacular. I particularly enjoy the large gorge West of the field that runs north to south. The nearby mountains are also fantastic and beautiful, but that could probably go without saying. I finished up this scenic side of the mountains with Questa Municipal, which has one runway and another lying AWOS. I watched the wind sock struggle against its tethers while listening to "winds light and variable." Right.

The final two airports of the day both lay on the opposite side of the Sangre de Christo range. Luckily Red River Pass connects the West to East in a manageable way, and I was able to dodge the building rain and snow in between gorgeous, snow covered peaks. I rode a lovely tailwind over to Springer, whose runway is nowhere near town, but directly next to the highway.

Raton, the final airport of the journey, was all that remained. I had to boogie there, however, since the fuel was full service only and they closed at 5! Betsy and I put the pedal down and made a high speed pattern to 20. We were just in time, and got one last fill up of 100LL from the friendly folks at KT Aero.

From there it was a simple hop over Raton Pass (dodging a shower or two) and we were back in familiar territory. The rest of the leg back home went mostly smooth, and I enjoyed dinner while cruising along the front range. Landing back home just after sunset, I was greeted with one last windy, gusty landing. Figures.

Day 3 Stats: 855 miles, 11 hours, 20 landings.

































FINAL THOUGHTS

New Mexico taught me the same lesson it gives every visitor from out of state--there's more to it than flat desert. It's not just more of west Texas and eastern Arizona. The mountains here give more character to the land than that. Hell, the average elevation of my landings has to be upwards of 5,000 feet. Beautiful lakes, river gorges, mountains, hills, and buttes stand out in my mind now when I think of my visit. Well, mostly the mountains. I have my preference to be sure! But I'm glad to have seen as much as I did, and now I have more reasons to come back and visit. I'll run trails in the Sierra Blanca, surf the White Sands, camp at Conchas (on a much less windy day), and explore the caldera up above Los Alamos. And all of this is without having touched the many Private and USFS-Private strips dotting the state. I'll have to check out those too. Finally, if you've been following along on a map you'll have noticed I missed one. Just one airport! Good old Hatch (E05) was closed during my visit. According to the manager, it'll be closed through most of May for runway work. Guess I'll have to come back anyway to finish the job.

I'd like to note how generally un-useful the NM Pilots Association website is when it comes to strip-specific data. The rest of the site is great--a forum for Pireps, a map with each strip coded by ownership, etc. But when clicking on an airport, most of what comes up is links to other sites, like Airnav, for info about runways and such. A few had pictures, which were nice, but many of the links (i.e. Videos of Cuba Airport) would just search the airport name on YouTube and show you the results! It feels a bit like the Let Me Google That For You version of a website. Instead, some basic info about runways and facilities (like the RAF site that's linked has) would be wonderful. Maybe add a link to the relevant forum page.

On the flip side, the New Mexico Department of Transportation, Aviation Division seems quite involved in keeping tabs on each of its airports, no matter how large or small. Perhaps it's a function of tourism draw, or because the state only has a few "large" airports. But I'll be interested to get my hands on that Annual Review, because it seems to me even the "abandoned" fields aren't quite so forgotten.

AOPA put out a depressing stat some years ago about how many of America's airports close each year. Most of us know better than to think we'll be getting as many back. I hope to travel to as many of these airports as possible before they're gone, and the best way to do that is one state at a time. Maybe this long winded report of mine will inspire others to visit some place new. Or give love to a sleepy airport that needs it.

TOTALS
2605 Miles
34 Hours
57 Landings

That's impressive! Great to see someone out using their airplane!

I tell everyone I have an airplane to go places... most of my local group gathers to eat donuts every Thursday and once a month will fly 30 miles to a pancake breakfast and half the time they'll drive to that. An airport manager at an airport where I used to be based said the pilots were like the geese on the airport... he had to throw rocks at them to make them fly.

I'm going to get out that way one day... I want to visit the Very Large Array. I've seen that thing many times from the flight levels and it's visible from a hundred miles away if the lighting is right. When I do I'll come back to this for reference!

Great report!

Dude, excellent report with great writing. I laughed at the LMGTFY reference.

And yeah, arroyo is Spanish for ditch. One of the best Mexican restaurants in Santa Barbara was called Los Arroyos, and the taste sopas y carnitas helped burn that term into my memory. But prob not what you want to see on an airstrip description.

I used to live in Albuquerque (actually, Cedar Crest on the back side of Sandia Mountain) and I loved the big open skies that NM offered. The winds can be a serious challenge in the spring and the summer thunderstorms are not to be messed with. My favorite strip in New Mexico was "Me Own" (1NM0) a private strip that the RAF successfully made available to GA. It is on a ridgeline in the Black Mountain Range in the Gila National Forest of SW NM, and that part of the state has a LOT more empty space than towns or even houses. Actually, the whole state is mostly empty space - as you no doubt recognized during your flight. Conches Lake was a regular picnic flight for me, but that part of the state is more plains than mountains and is wind swept most of the year. It was fun to revisit my time flying there through your trip report. Thanks for sharing it.