So there I was, in the canyon...
I reached down to pull on the second notch of flaps just as I cleared the rocky saddle by a mere 50 feet, descending deeper into the river canyon and starting a lightly banked last minute right turn while nudging a little rudder to line up with the strip. The airspeed indicator slowly dialed down to 50 mph and I felt our sink rate start to increase. My focus shifted to the clearing ahead, a silty track amid a palette of yellow and tan grasses, well dried by the heat of summer and the natural aridity of central Oregon. The lazy John Day river directly under us wound north, cutting a deep, narrow channel in the rotten basalt. Just 300 more feet to the touchdown.
From the back seat, Scott talked me through the final touches on this approach; a few reassuring callouts to solidify my situation. Our high, mid, and low-level survey passes revealed the surface of the strip to be in great condition, and the wind just a barely perceptible 5 mph out of the north. Just a few feet off the ground, I blipped the throttle for a fraction of a second, just enough to put us beyond the rougher ground at the south end of the strip, and touched down in a 3-point attitude, coming to a stop at mid-field. I stepped hard on the left brake and throttled up to turn the Cub around and taxi back to the open parking area by the tree.
We were alone out here. Shutting down welcomed a rush of silence, the sound of little beyond the creaks and ticks of cooling exhaust metal and the winding down of a gyro. Massive canyon walls dominated my field of view as the outside world disappeared along with our cell signal. Welcome to Chukar Flat.
Scott Perry and I have been friends for a long time, meeting at Johnson Creek some 10 years ago when I was still flying my Cessna 170. He owns a very nice rebuilt 1976 PA-18 Super Cub of his own, and has been landing Chukar Flat for years to fish, play in the water, and enjoy the general solitude. In fact, he brought me here in 2012 for the first time, but today was the first in an official student/instructor scenario. Last year he made the decision to follow his dream of professional flying, and added part-time CFI for a local Hood River flight school as one of his many hats. His other career is dealing drugs legitimately as a pharmacist.
It was not a decision made lightly for the 52 year-old and his wife. Traditionally, flight instruction is wrought with days spent in the hot cockpit of a 172, bouncing around the afternoon sky teaching primary students. And as a part-timer, it would mean working on his days off from his main gig. So as a condition of Scott coming aboard, he teaches tailwheel and backcountry flying exclusively, which on a day like today, means a flight review and some backcountry/off-airport refresher training for me; just another day in Scott’s new reality.
Scott and I climbed out of the aircraft to stretch our legs and enjoy the summer morning at Chukar Flat. I actually relish the experience of a flight review— the challenge from another pilot to demonstrate my skill and competence, the opportunity to identify weakness. As a Private pilot, I personally do not challenge myself often. I fly the same mini-missions over and over, so the influence of a more experienced pilot in a formal training scenario is exciting. We sat down at the brand new picnic table, recently brought to the airstrip by some generous soul, and debriefed the flying we'd done this morning thus far.
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September 2026
It's Sept 1, 2026. I learned late last night that my friend Scott Perry (@scottnt) was lost in a crash near Hood River, Oregon. I am heartbroken and trying to process it, so I will just tell a story.
Scott was a great pilot, an excellent instructor, and above all was an amazing, gentle person who was very generous to me with both his time and his friendship. For three consecutive flight reviews, sometime in the late twenty-teens, he let me ham fist his gorgeous Bonanza around the northern Willamette Valley and Columbia River, trying to teach me the ways of complex, high performance aircraft, and for only the price of the fuel. He loved fishing, especially fly fishing, so in summer 2012 he picked me up at Twin Oaks in his Bonanza, we landed Hood River and swapped to the Super Cub, and flew to Chukar Flat to fish. Smallie after smallie until we just grew tired of reeling them in.
Then we reversed the process and he let me fly us back to Portland in the Bonanza.
In June 2011, my wife Erin and I joined Scott and Theresa as a flight of two to Johnson Creek, where we camped and were mesmerized by their bountiful yet healthy breakfasts. Oatmeal cooked in milk and grapefruit-heavy fruit salad. It is strange to revisit the memory so far in my rearview mirror, but it is among my life's best. It was a joy to have them at my wedding later that year.
The trips didn't end there. They joined us for the San Juans, Stehekin, always a joy to have along and made the group better. Greg Swingle, Paco, and I were always fascinated by Scott's impressive and healthy hair. It's been a long running joke, our envy for his perfect coif.
Not sure where to go from here. I don't really feel like dissecting the accident, nor do I know anything. I need more than two hands to count the pilots I have known who died, but this is the first time it was a good friend. He was a supportive, positive person who I texted with questions about medicines for my young kids. He was stoked for our move to the midwest, as he was also from here, nearby Iowa. He loved owning Golden Retrievers. He was truly the best of us.
He was a long-time BCP member, and I hope others here had the chance to cross paths with him. Definitely a highlight of my time here.
You will be missed, Scott.
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Scott’s memorial:
Saturday, September 26 • 1:00 p.m.
Ken Jernstedt Airfield (Hood Tech/Aero yellow hangar)
3650 Airport Drive • Hood River, OR
