I have loved airplanes since I was a little girl. So when my son arrived, I was excited to share my passion with him. The early days seemed to indicate that he shared my fascination with flight. One of the very first sounds Benjamin uttered as a baby was a crowlike “cra-cra,” which he excitedly made, while pointing to the sky, any time he saw an airplane. As he grew older, Benjamin made funny noises as he swooped toy airplanes around in aerobatic flight patterns.
As a toddler, Benjamin was not one to throw a fit. He would never scream and roll on the floor at Target because I wouldn’t buy the toy he desired, as some kids do. He wouldn’t cry if I refused to buy the tub of ice cream he wanted at the grocery store. However, if I said we were going flying, all hell broke loose. “I hate flying! I don’t want to go flying!” he would scream as soon as I told him we were heading to the airport.
Because I wasn’t prepared to give up on my own dreams, I bribed him with extra iPad time and promises that we would fly to cool places. He liked flying to Catalina Island off California, so occasionally he started asking: “Can we fly to the island?” My heart was filled every time I heard those words.
“I hate flying! I don’t want to go flying!” he would scream as soon as I told him we were heading to the airport.
The most significant transformation happened when Benjamin was six years old on a camping trip at Oceano Airport (L52) near San Luis Obispo, California. Some friends from our neighborhood joined us. They drove to Oceano in an RV camper while Benjamin and I flew in “Manny,” my Mooney. It took us about an hour and a half to pop up to Oceano, including the drive to Camarillo Airport (KCMA) where the Mooney is parked. It took our friends with the trailer about four and a half hours. We all enjoyed the dunes, the beach and the beauty of the central coast—and Benjamin liked the fact that we got there three times quicker.
A couple of weeks after our Oceano adventure, Benjamin and I headed to Mammoth Lakes. Because the Owens Valley is notorious for sketchy winds and weather patterns and the drive to KCMA is 30 minutes in the opposite direction from home, it made most sense to drive.
On our way back from Mammoth, traffic on the US Route 395 was at a standstill. By the looks of the muddy old Volkswagen buses and homemade flatbed campers, covered with bikes and trinkets I wouldn’t dare to describe, the traffic came from Burning Man. The vehicles provided a short-lived distraction, and Benjamin said, “Mommy, we should have flown.” I could hardly contain my excitement.
Benjamin had gotten over his extreme aversion to flying, so I decided to take him with me to Oshkosh, Wisconsin, for the migration to EAA’s AirVenture. It was 2017, and Benjamin was about to turn 8 years old.
I decided to make the first day of flying fairly short. We flew from KCMA to Bryce Canyon (KBCE) in the highlands of Utah. My Aspen E1000 MFD and Avidyne IFDs—fed ADS-B In data by the L-3 Lynx transponder—were painting a pretty intense thunderstorm right over the airport, but thankfully, the storm appeared to be shrinking and moving to the east.
Sure enough, by the time we arrived, the sun was slipping toward the horizon, lighting up the big cumulonimbus clouds in magnificent colors. Being on the upwind side of the storm, the air was smooth and winds calm. I landed on Runway 3 and started taxiing toward the historic, wooden hangar, a sizable ponderosa-pine log barn built in 1936. As I cracked the door of the Mooney, the scent of lavender filled the cabin. The purple perennials covered the unpaved areas of the airport, and apparently the heavy rain made their scent explode. Benjamin said, “Mommy, I think we’re in heaven!” After hearing him utter those words, I definitely was.
We spent the night at a local hotel and caught the shuttle to Bryce Canyon National Park the next morning. We hiked around the Egyptian-statue-like rock formations, then packed up the Mooney and headed to Rapid City, South Dakota.
We dodged a few thunderstorms on the way, but the flight required minimal diversions. Benjamin had studied Mount Rushmore during the previous school year, so I’d planned to go to the national monument the following day. But because it was open until 9 p.m., we headed straight from the airport to the park to explore and learn about how the monument was created. Seeing the former presidents lit up after sunset was really special, and visiting two iconic parks in one day proved, once again, the benefit of having an airplane.
Benjamin said, “Mommy, I think we’re in heaven!” After hearing him utter those words, I definitely was.
We drove through Wildlife Loop Road near Casper the next morning, where we saw bison and a cougar before continuing our flying adventure eastbound. I had planned to stop for fuel and another overnight before getting to the mecca of general aviation, but we had a stellar tailwind that allowed us to continue all the way to Oshkosh and arrive just before the airfield closed for the day. About 80 miles out, I started eavesdropping on the arrival frequency, where pilots arriving at KOSH listen in and comply with instructions, per the EAA AirVenture notam.
The controller called out instructions nonstop: “Low wing over FISK, rock your wings. There you go—good rock. Follow the railroad tracks to the right downwind for 27. Make that turn to the downwind inside the gravel pit. Stay at 1,800 feet until you get there. Monitor tower now—118.5. Red RV, rock your wing. Good rock! Now follow the low wing ahead for the right downwind for Runway 27…” My traffic-advisory system showed a steady flow of airplane symbols moving toward the airport.
As we reached Ripon—the first point on the arrival procedure at that time—there were three airplanes approaching simultaneously. I gave them plenty of space and followed them over the railroad leading to FISK. However, somehow the airplanes magically dispersed, and the arrival frequency was quiet for at least 15 to 20 seconds—an eternity in that airspace—before I reached FISK. It was as though the seas of airplanes had parted for us. At FISK, the controller misidentified me as a black-and-blue RV, but I knew he was referring to me, and I rocked my wings. The instructions were the same as the preceding airplanes. It was my first time flying my own airplane into Oshkosh, so there were butterflies in my tummy—the controller gave them no instructions.
I switched to 118.1, and the tower frequency was also quiet until ATC cleared me to land on the green dot on Runway 27. Off into the grass of the North 40 we went, being marshaled in with a steady flow of campers. I spent my first night tent camping at AirVenture with my son at my side.
It’s been an interesting journey. While I haven’t been able to fully cultivate a love of flying in Benjamin, I’m immensely thankful for our amazing flying memories so far.
