A Hill Country Christmas

The Eze growls strong and smooth over central Texas. The 42 mph winds that I initially discounted when flight planning are now threatening to extend the normally 1.5 hour trip from Fort Worth to San Antonio and make me late for a meeting. Instead of leaning to 2200 or 2400 rpm, the mixture is kept up at a hair lean of peak with the rpm at 2500. The actual headwind is only 22 mph so running at max cruise will get me there on time.
A good portion of the previous evening included visions of sugar plums and a heavily aviation-APPed iPad dancing in my head. I had recently observed a friend surround himself with one; getting all the good stuff on it, with the iPad now having become a new “significant-other” in his life so to speak J Lots of quality time together.

However, back to reality and basic-flying here, the nose is periodically nudged back to 6500 feet and 210 degrees, with the airplane describing gentle horizontal and vertical sine waves cruising across the undulating hill country below.

The wing-leveler hasn’t moved from The List to my panel yet, and the yeoman GPS has been a member of the spartan cockpit equipment for about a decade. Basic. Over the trip down and back today I will come to again appreciate the airplane’s svelte ‘antiglass’ component suite with the GPS direction arrow and altimeter being the primary distractions from the outside vistas, and the sound of the purring engine leaving the cassette player mostly unused. Just kidding, it’s really a portable CD player that I don’t get around to using J No, not an 8-track either.

The sky is brilliant blue. The temperature today in mid December will be 70 degrees. Looking up past the GPS direction needle, the bug splat on the canopy is held targeted on a distinct shape on the horizon as a course marker. Even with the headwind those distant aim-points slide under the nose at a gratifying rate. Time to flip the sectional.

Vistas of the hill country to the west remind me of places to swing over and check out on the way back. The list includes looking forward to a vibrant moment or two running that granite-floored riverbed down there, and a little further west, checking out that partially framed dream home that I stumbled across several years ago, set inside the elbow of a secluded ridgeline in a spectacular winding rock-chiseled ravine that is sometimes a raging river. Evidently.

The day is spent consulting with an official that happens to have been a school friend. Our itinerary includes lunch at his favorite Mexican restaurant out in the middle of nowhere. Looking back, the day has now settled out to be among one of my favorite days. Since renewing our friendship several months ago the friend has become several chapters in a book. And those pages are spent just trying to describe him and what he does. Riding in his truck you notice that the radio is gone. It looks like he grabbed the radio and jerked it out and threw it out the window, and now keeps his chaw and cigars and the tools of his trade in the hole in the dash. I haven’t seen burdizzos in a while.

Preparing to depart for home from the historical Alsace community, a small group looks over the plane. I fill the tanks full with $3.49 Avgas. It starts on the third pull. I succeed in resisting jumping and punching a fist in the air. Taxiing out there is a Cessna grunting around the pattern. I remind myself to take the other side of the pattern. On takeoff the Eze climbs strong into the wind, turns and zips downwind, and with a waggle of the wing lofts briskly to the north. Climbing out through 4000 feet the plane seems to slide gracefully onto slippery glass.

Leveling at 7500 feet the air is smooth as silk. The GPs says the trip home will total about a third less than normal. With a smile the mixture is leaned a little more. This is where the pure simplicity of the plane rises up savored and refreshingly inhaled again. Better even than epoxy fumes. That’s a joke. The epoxy fumes. Rather, it’s really ginger snaps and milk that work the magic.

Running the granite lined river bed will wait for another calmer day. The winds down there would be brutal.

Oh yes … the partially framed dream home. Over there to the left a little, if I can find it again. I think its over that set of ridgelines. I think this is the right river. Topping the black bush thatched granite peak and swinging back along the chiseled butte, I’m thinking – I love the way this airplane flies – I’m thinking it must have been some really impressive water flows to cut through that ridgeline.
The dream home is finished. Six columns. Drifting down toward the river bed, above legal altitude of course – especially with the winds over the ridgelines today, you can see that the front yard holds a turquoise swimming pool and faces an imposing black and white granite cliff across the river. In the back yard there is a tennis court and several outbuildings. A dirt road winds out across the rolling hills and disappears into the distance. No runway. No helo pad. To get out here, you really have to want to get out here. I think about Freedom. I think about Time. What would it be like to have them? What would it be worth to control them.

Rolling back north, the dozen or so unmarked black ranch airstrips appear one by one out across the open expanse of the hill country. I silently congratulate those that fly off of the pristine strips, and if they are not there, mark them at their blank space on the sectional, and the GPS, hoping never to need them.

Here it comes again. Under the rumble, an unheard sigh of joy. Sitting here doing this. In this vibrant steed. Outracing the wind. The overwhelming magnificence of the blue sky above turning turquoise and bronze, permeating down to the blackening horizon. I have been here before. They are always here. But it’s special again. Up here. How can I stay up here more? The Wright Brothers would have killed to be doing this. Maybe not killed… but something dramatic….
I wonder again how do these molecules hold together, and then I remember again; You Are Wonderfully Made….
How lucky was I to grab this dream, this airframe that does so much besides defy the laws of gravity…no, prove the laws of gravity. How can I comprehend… What experience can I capture…? What picture can I take…? What words…?
And again I just relax and sit back and enjoy and let this shapely foil of molecules do their thing. The shot of the winglet on the sunset does turn out pretty good.

The towers of downtown Fort Worth are unseen in the distance, but they laser the crimson sunset back at me off their golden windows. The GPS says Approaching VNav Profile. Descending through 3500 feet over the Brazos River the air comes alive. Slow down. The waters in the river and lakes are tightly rippling. Arriving home includes an overhead approach and a tighter bank angle than normal to stay in the county. Turning final at 400 feet, past experience reminds me to be on my toes. The stick comes alive in a relaxed hand and will be gently stirred all the way down. We’ll be flying all the way to the hangar. The rudders respond with a wiggle and are ready. I hold an extra ten knots. Slowing down on ground rollout will not be a problem.
Winsock is straight out and skittish. Slight crosswind. Across trees and hangars. A friend refers to these moments as sporty. Gear down check the third time.

On final at 50 feet the windsock continues to flitter as I motor past. There’s the burble. Sporty indeed. Left main, right main, left main, settle there now, won’t need a go-around. Probably.
The landing is likely the most challenging of the thousand or so in the plane. Taxiing in unscathed it is apparent that mixing the stick (no gorilla grip) and aggressive rudder were a good part of the landing.
I could log three landings. I wonder if Bob Hoover does when he does that on purpose. Probably not.

A well-deserved day off from work. An out and back over the Hill Country. A purdy good way to spend a Wednesday. And your birthday.

It’s late. The ginger snaps have worn off. I will wake up in the morning in the 1970s. Thinking about what an Eze should really look like.

Merry Christmas Y’all. I hope we all get what we want. Not what we deserve J
Bill James
Fort Worth VariEze