It was a perfect early summer day in Minnesota, warm and clear with a wisp of breeze, the sort of day that we northern fliers will be dreaming of when the snow flies — right about the time you’re reading this. I relaxed on our back deck, savoring my morning coffee and watching our dog, Piper, run around the grassy yard with Chai, my sister’s poodle that we were dog-sitting. My schoolteacher wife, Dawn, lay contentedly in the sun, deep into the first novel of her summer vacation. “What should we do today?” I asked without expecting much of an answer. Dawn thought for a second and cocked one eye up from the book. “Let’s take the dogs to the beach. Is there anywhere that we can fly?” I knew there was a reason I married that girl.
A few hours later, our 1953 Piper Pacer wheeled over Duluth’s iconic Aerial Lift Bridge, the century-old steel span across the canal between Duluth Harbor and Lake Superior. Piper and Chai sat behind us with tongues wagging and wet noses pressed against the rear windows, eyeing the massive cargo ships and oilers being loaded in the dockyards below. A slender red lake freighter, heavily laden with taconite ore, slowly eased its way toward the channel as sailboats, power yachts and even a Cessna 180 on floats flitted around it. I banked to the east and entered downwind for Sky Harbor, a neat little airport out at the end of Minnesota Point. Landing here is a bit like alighting on an aircraft carrier, as the waves lap mere feet from the runway surface. As soon as we parked amid a gaggle of old taildraggers and high-and-dry floatplanes, Piper and Chai leapt from the plane and joyfully bounded for the airport gate. A quick 50-yard jaunt over windblown dunes brought us to a beautiful sliver of beach with miles of coarse red sand for the pups to frolic on between tentative splashes into the still-frigid surf of Lake Superior.
The two Pipers came into our lives at nearly the same time, though dog preceded airplane by about a month. Dawn and I had been talking about getting a pup for a while, but the matter was decided when her brother’s dog produced a litter of seven. Dawn picked Piper over his siblings for his sweet and apparently calm disposition — which certainly didn’t last long — and his handsome, unique markings. The illicit progeny of a shadowy barnyard liaison, our rambunctious mutt is some dubious mixture of Labrador retriever, German shorthaired pointer and perhaps beagle or terrier (with a good dash of demon dog thrown in, I often joke). We named him Piper simply because it fit, though it was the cause of considerable confusion among our friends when we subsequently adopted a 62-year-old airplane of the same name. The canine addition to our family strongly influenced our choice of aircraft, and indeed the Pacer has proved to be an ideal aerial platform for the three of us.
Piper, on the other hand, was very unsure of the Pacer at first. He first flew at only 10 weeks old, a few days after I brought the airplane home from Montana. The pint-size pup mightily resisted my efforts to ensconce him in the rear seat, and then plaintively cried and shook with fright when I started the engine. He went positively apoplectic on takeoff, jumping clear over the front seat into my brother Steve’s lap and howling his disapproval at the smallest jostle of turbulence. After the flight, Piper registered his protest by puking all over the front seat of my truck. Subsequent outings were less dramatic, though he was noticeably hesitant to get in the airplane. He’d lie quietly on the back seat, but when I’d reach back to give him a reassuring touch I would find him quivering with anxiety.
Since then our pooch has warmed considerably to flying as he’s grown and gained airborne experience. He now willingly jumps into the airplane via the rear door, sits upright on the back seat to watch the takeoff, and once we’re at altitude typically lies back down and goes to sleep. He’s still frightened by notably uncomfortable turbulence, but hell — so am I! I usually drape an old blanket across the rear seat, but he has yet to repeat the vomit experience. When we’re carrying Piper’s crate and other bulky luggage, or bringing along another dog like Chai or his doggie-bestie, Lincoln, from next door, it’s a quick five-minute job to remove the rear seat and turn the back of the Pacer into an enormous cargo pit/dog den. Piper can’t see out of the windows as easily then, though, which he clearly prefers to do.
We’ve had to leave Piper behind for two of our biggest aerial adventures with the Pacer so far: flying to the Bahamas and participating in the AirVenture Cup race to Oshkosh. We unfortunately had to cancel plans to attend September’s Aviation Migration at Lee Bottom, Indiana, as our usual dog sitters were indisposed. Large fly-ins are poor places to bring pets — especially ones as excitable as our young pup. On the other hand, dogs can be great camping companions, and Piper loves curling up between us in our tent, so we plan to bring him along as we hopscotch our way up the Alaska Highway next summer. Thus far, though, most of our outings have been short hops to the many small fields surrounding my home airport, Flying Cloud (KFCM) — especially the quiet grass strips that both Piper and the Pacer so love.
Piper turned 1 year old on a perfect late-summer day. I called up some friends to go fly, but all were tragically busy at work, so it was just the pup and me for the afternoon. We cruised low over verdant fields, brooks and vales as we meandered southeast, then ducked into one of my favorite airports around, a World War II-era grass strip named Stanton (Taking Wing, “The Airfield that Time Forgot,” June 2014). It was Piper’s first time here, and he was beside himself with nervous excitement as he ran to and fro, straining at the leash, chasing a cornucopia of unfamiliar but apparently fascinating sights, smells and sounds. Finally, he settled down and lay at my feet while I chatted with the locals. I ran into Brian Weber, a longtime Stanton Airport bum who flies for my former regional airline. We have quite a few friends in common and knew of each other, but hadn’t met until now. Naturally, we had to fly each other’s airplanes, so Piper gamely jumped back into the airplane and watched with interest while Brian acquainted himself with the Pacer’s twitchy ground handling on takeoff and then scribed neat circles over the shores of Lake Byllesby. He made a beautiful three-point landing back at Stanton, and then Piper waited patiently while I went off to try my hand at Brian’s newly rebuilt 180 hp beast of a Super Cub. What a machine!
The sun was drawing low in the sky when Piper and I set out for home. The air was smooth, and he wagged his tail contentedly as he looked out the rear window, his silken coat bathed in golden evening light. “Come on up, bud,” I called, patting the seat next to me. I’d never done this before. Piper hesitated a moment, then jumped over the seat back, settled into the right seat and put his head on my lap, looking up at me with those big brown puppy eyes. “Good boy,” I murmured, scratching behind his ears. He couldn’t hear me over the engine’s roar, but no matter. He’s been around long enough to know when my tail is wagging. It’s been a wonderful first year introducing man’s best friend to the wonder of flight, and I look forward to his airborne companionship for years to come.
