Long, long ago, during a period of my life when it absolutely could not be justified, I chose to learn to fly. In my second year of college education, funded to that point by my unsuspecting parents, I took on two and sometimes three part-time jobs simultaneously - airport security, boiler maintenance engineer, tow truck operator, parking lot attendant, motel night clerk, to name a few. That made up for my lack of income and payed for lessons at the University of Minnesota flight facility at the Anoka airport in Blane. Rationalization included the potential of an aviation career, which I harbored for several years. Any rational person would, however, recognize my true motive to be the fancy of flight (read: flight of fancy). Once introduced, there was just something about soaring through the sky and looking down at the traffic and buildings below that helped me feel in control and above it all. That and the encouragement from my instructors that I had some natural ability offset the reality that I just wasn't engaging well with the academic environment, wondering if I had any life-skills at all. It also contributed to postponement of my graduation from college for about six years.
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| Cap'n James Marshall & Protege |
After re-meeting Bonnie, I furthered my addiction thanks to her father, who allowed me to join him in ownership of a 1949 Aeronca Champ on floats and skis. We flew that thing all over northern Minnesota and Wisconsin, to places unreachable by car. It was bush flying as I had read and dreamed about it in magazines from Alaska. Unfortunately, realities then set in, with a new job far away, and one that did not involve flying as I'd hoped. In 1993 I abandoned my license to fly and focused instead on the greater privileges of breadwinning and family.
Fast forward to today, some 23 years later. It is now time to find a way back into the cockpit. Actually, the real longer term goal is to become rated in gliders, but let's first get back to the proficiency left behind. After some research and study, I've decided it probably won't take much to recover the feel and mechanics of flying - it's a little bit like riding a bike - but whoah, have I got some catching up to do in avionics technology and navigation.
The world of general aviation has shrunk over the last several recessions, as evidenced by the reduced number of rental and training facilities available. One answer to that and the much higher cost of ownership is flying clubs. The equivalent of fractional ownership can be found in clubs that own airplanes, maintain hangars, and operate scheduling systems for their members. An associate of my long time buddy, Dana Klimp, who knew I was looking into options, introduced me to the Prescott Flying Club. The club is located at Fleming Field in South Saint Paul,
just between our home and the home of Anne and Jon. Hidden a short distance south of better known Holman Field in St. Paul, Fleming Field has a single runway nestled atop the bluff alongside the Mississippi River. A former Navy training base, it has a beautiful, city-owned terminal for transient pilots, and is also home to the
Commemorative Air Force - Minnesota Wing and their WWII museum and hangar, complete with a B-25 bomber and other operational WWII aircraft.
Things came together quickly. The club and the field were a perfect fit for me, but the one available membership that was cause for Dana bringing it to my attention was scooped up by the time his associate, Grant, met with me at the hangar. Disappointed following my enthusiastic interest, Grant sent an email out to all members asking if anyone was interested in selling their membership. One reply came back, and I pounced. The annual meeting was to be held one week later, and within that week I met with the board, provided all license and medical documentation, cleared a background check, and deposited a check. Introduced as the newest member by 48 hours, other members I met confirmed that the club was made up of well grounded pilots with diverse backgrounds and interests. Two happened to come from the gliding community, providing a connection to that future. Bonus!
I start my new venture by meeting with a flight instructor on Wednesday.
Other photo's from the trip down memory lane:
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| Cornucopia Snow Queen Linda |
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| Ice Caves BEFORE NPS |
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| If the engine won't start, there's always the paddle |
The world of general aviation has shrunk over the last several recessions, as evidenced by the reduced number of rental and training facilities available. One answer to that and the much higher cost of ownership is flying clubs. The equivalent of fractional ownership can be found in clubs that own airplanes, maintain hangars, and operate scheduling systems for their members. An associate of my long time buddy, Dana Klimp, who knew I was looking into options, introduced me to the Prescott Flying Club. The club is located at Fleming Field in South Saint Paul, just between our home and the home of Anne and Jon. Hidden a short distance south of better known Holman Field in St. Paul, Fleming Field has a single runway nestled atop the bluff alongside the Mississippi River. A former Navy training base, it has a beautiful, city-owned terminal for transient pilots, and is also home to the Commemorative Air Force - Minnesota Wing and their WWII museum and hangar, complete with a B-25 bomber and other operational WWII aircraft.
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