We’ve had an absolutely gorgeous spring and early summer in the Pacific Northwest, and if I had my druthers, I’d spend every glorious moment exploring the area with my pretty blue-and-green 1946 Stinson 108. But it’s been all work and no play for this dull boy, because as of early July, my wife Dawn and I are still not quite moved into our grass-strip hangar/apartment. We’re making great progress, mind you, with the punch list growing steadily shorter and the final inspection drawing closer. The place is really coming together and is becoming exactly the handsome, comfortable little adventure base I envisioned. Our excitement over our impending move has helped keep our noses to the grindstone, even on all these beautiful flying days when we’d rather be airborne.
But today I’m finally taking a day off. I’ve had an ultra-productive week, I’ll be flying for work tomorrow, and Dawn just headed to her parents’ place in South Dakota. It’s just me and my flying pooch, Piper, living the bachelor life. It’s time for a playdate to go explore those Cascade mountain strips I’ve been eyeing from high above on the CHINS5 and GLASR2 arrivals. This would ideally be done in the cool, still air of morning, but I got waylaid by another project, and it’s after noon by the time Piper and I finally depart and turn northeast. It’s not a terribly hot day, though, and we’re light, and the highest airstrip is at only 3,000 feet in elevation. The puffy cumulus over the Cascades aren’t looking too threatening—yet.
