You’ll Meet the Nicest People in Oshkosh — General Aviation News

By MIKE HALSTEAD

It was 9 a.m. on a beautiful summer morning in Wisconsin. I looked over at my copilot and wife.

“I don’t like this!” she said nervously. “But it’s better than last time.”

My wife Jeanette has been my long distance travel companion for 12 years, since we bought the Cessna 206. She keeps an eye on the Garmin with ADS-B on the wheel, keeping an eye on the weather, towers and traffic in the area.

What didn’t she like? Her screen showed a whopping 30 planes in our area headed to the same destination: EAA AirVenture Oshkosh 2023.

I looked out the window and quickly checked the situation. On the Ripon-Fisk approach to Oshkosh, we were all supposed to be lined up, 90 knots and 1,800 feet with a half mile between them. More than half the planes were on the line where they were supposed to be. The rest seemed to be either a little too fast, too slow, too high or, according to my wife, way too close!

From every window I saw a plane. I had a big grin on my face and said reassuringly, “Isn’t this great… at least we’re all going in the same direction!”

She didn’t quite agree.

The “last time” she was referring to was a few years ago. Oshkosh Airport was IFR all morning and when the ceiling went up at 11:00, hundreds of planes descended in exactly the same manner. Like a swarm of bees, we flew in a great conga line. I had never seen anything like it, but I remember feeling lucky to be a part of it!

We were now 17 miles out with Green Lake on my left. A couple of new planes entered our line, causing some real-time range issues.

While all this was happening I noticed I was running a little low and a little slow. When I stepped on the gas pedal a yellow light came on the EDM engine monitor and immediately turned red. When I looked over I saw one of the cylinders was going over 500°.

I thought about “flying” the plane first, kept my eyes out the window and turned up the mixture to cool it down, the red light quickly went out and we continued on.

When I listened to the radio it appeared that there was a delay at the airport and the controller was sending half or more of the planes back to the Endeavor Bridge for a 50-mile diversion.

As we approached Fisk, my wife pointed and said, “Watch out!” as a Beechcraft came down from 300 feet and squeezed between me and the Cub I was following.

A minute later the controller said, “Beechcraft, shake your wings.”

Normally I don’t wish bad news on anyone, but my wife and I both laughed when the controller said, “Beechcraft, left toward Endeavor Bridge.”

The next thing I heard was, “White Cessna with big tires, wiggle your wings.”

I obeyed and he came back with the most beautiful words: “Good rock, turn right east and follow the yellow Cub, left for 36.”

We were in!

This was the fourth day of the trip from Oregon to Oshkosh. We had spent two nights in Sturgis, South Dakota, and visited the old frontier town of Deadwood.

After a night in Minnesota, we left early for the hour and a half flight to the famous Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH), home of the Experimental Aircraft Association and its annual fly-in.

The way the Cessna 206 is equipped, we never plan for more than 120 knots. With the four rear seats removed, we somehow seem to fill the plane with all the stuff we will never use.

In addition to the 36-inch Tundra tires and all the survival and camping gear, we also have the added weight of a turbo, tilt tanks, TKS ice protection, and oxygen.

Whether it’s hunting in Hells Canyon, flying through the trenches to Alaska, or hitting the smooth pavement of any rental airport, we hope we have everything we need.

Back to our arrival in Oshkosh: A left turn into the final and there it is, the infamous dot. We hit it just right and 30 seconds later we were in the grass chasing the orange vests.

With our GAC sign in the window (short for General Aviation Camping), we joined the long line of planes that would take us to the South Forty, nearly two miles away.

We taxied slowly through Vintage Aviation Camping, quite jealous of how close they were to the center of everything.

“Oh, if only the N7000L was five years older!” I complained.

As we taxied, I couldn’t help but notice how friendly everyone was. A volunteer in an orange vest waved and pointed, I waved back. Then a pilot waved and pointed next to his parked plane.

I suddenly realized that they weren’t saying, “Welcome to Oshkosh,” but rather pointing to the smoke and oil coming from the left exhaust pipe in the engine compartment.

Smoke that I could barely see, even through my newly installed bubble window on the side.

I took the headset off my good ear and heard a distinctive pop, pop, pop. It was hard to continue the 20-minute cab ride, thinking I might do more damage.

It is often said, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Fortunately, sometimes there’s only smoke.

Unable to see what they saw, I reached between the seats and cleared away the empty coffee cup, motel muffin, and airport cards that were lying on the fire extinguisher. Then I informed my wife of our possible quick exit from the plane if anything went wrong. She was now as cool as a cucumber that we were on the ground. When we finally arrived at our designated spot, I turned off the engine.

When I climbed out, all I could see was oil on the bottom and the underside. The vain side of me grabbed a towel and started wiping. I had to keep the plane nice.

As I stood there, it finally dawned on me: we might be stuck here for a while.

Surprise

The next part of the story surprised me. Not two minutes after we locked the car, a golf cart pulled up with three gentlemen. They jumped out and started asking questions.

After the hood was removed, two of them began an in-depth diagnostic conversation.

As I stood there with my hand on the prop spinner, truly amazed that help had been offered so quickly, the third gentleman whispered to me, “Do you know who that man is? That’s Joe Brown, the former president and now chairman of Hartzell Propeller.”

I smiled and casually slid my hand up the prop to cover the large McCauley prop sticker. Joe looked at me and said with a slight smile, “That’s okay.”

After the initial assessment, I went for a ride in the golf cart with Joe, who as a regular Oshkosh customer was in a big hurry and knew all the shortcuts. We drove straight to the Continental tent, where he talked to two men for a few minutes before we all headed back to the plane.

It was amazing to watch them slowly pull the plug through the 310 hp engine. The “engine whisperers” listened softly for every little sound of moving air, leaking air, every tick, every feeling of compression or release of air.

Even with the cylinders covered by the turbo and exhaust pipes, within a few minutes they agreed that cylinder #4 had a large crack near the head.

It was so serious that if the pressure in the intake manifold had increased, it could have exploded with a loud bang and crash-landed in a bean field near the town of Fisk.

Or, as can always happen, somewhere less mild.

Within two hours, after a few phone calls and using good connections, they found a shop at the field that could tow the plane and schedule us for a cylinder change the following week.

All those people who had so much to do and yet took care of us as if we were family!

A commercial flight shortened the trip home, but added a very nice return trip two weeks later. It took us five days to get home, saw four new cities, and even went to the SPAM Museum in Austin, Minnesota.

Lesson learned

What can we learn from this journey?

First of all, it’s nice to have a best friend to fly with.

Second, the beauty of the United States is endless when you look out the window and fly low.

And finally, the people who volunteer at EAA AirVenture Oshkosh are the nicest people around.

I am proud to be part of the whole aviation family. You can always see who they are. They don’t stand out in the crowd — until a plane flies over. They are the ones who just can’t help but look up!