The airstrip, seem from above, is little more than a momentary slash through the brooding forest between Green Mountain and Wildcat Lake; blink and you’ll miss it.I refrain from blinking, announce turning downtown on the seldom-used CTAF, and configure the well-worn rental Piper Cherokee for landing. I’ve landed at this strip exactly once ;by backcountry standards it’s not a terribly challenging field, but it’s not your usual paved public airport either. I can’t see the runway as I turn base, but I can see my neighbor’s hangar and the crease in the trees that denotes the runway threshold.
Turning an offset final, 2,400 feet of beautifully manicured grass reveals itself through a slot between some truly monstrous Douglas firs, and my wife, Dawn, ex-claims at the glittering apparition of Mount Rainier floating above the far end. I slip the little Cherokee down through the slot, straightening out above the grass and touching down softly. A windsock denoting a10-knot tailwind whisks by, but no matter; this strip is one-way-in, one-way-out, and the grade slows us quickly. “Welcome home,” I say, as I turn around and taxi to a wooded plot near the windsock. Dawn squeezes my arm,tears in her eyes. It’s been a long road here, and Dawn’s first landing at Leisureland Airpark (WA96) marks a fitting end to this leg of our journey.
