No doubt, for many general aviation pilots, and especially for CRUFC members, the thought of participating in extended cross-country flights holds an element of excitement and anticipation; but it could possibly also be viewed as somewhat routine. Not so for the owner of a newly “minted” 1946 Champ, with aspirations of getting some hours logged after almost two years in the shop unbending said aircraft after an untimely and very quiet landing in a mature barley crop. Although I have spent, from time to time, some long hours in the narrow confines of a Champ cockpit, the opportunity for an “overnighter” has not presented itself until this summer in the form of an invitation from fellow club member, Stu Simpson. Stu is no stranger to flying alongside Hotel Juliet Charlie in his trusty Merlin and has been instrumental in getting yours truly “back in the saddle” after my restoration hiatus. The long evenings of this past spring saw our two aircraft visiting local favorites such as Linden, Vulcan, and Three Hills… every flight a small affirmation that the airplane was indeed put back together the way it came apart, and that the new 85 HP engine was performing as only the expenditure of an enormous amount of money could possibly guarantee. Even the occasional bout of marginal weather, at times somewhat disconcerting, helped restore my stick-and-rudder confidence to “pre-barley” levels.

Spring slowly evolved into summer, and soon the topic of an “air venture” was broached by Stu after one of our local flights. The destination: southern Saskatchewan. The date of departure: the end of July. Hearing this, I suddenly had a strong desire to expand my flying horizons, and told Stu I was in, though an occasional butterfly was felt doing circuits around the idea from time to time after that.

Ten days before departure, we rendezvoused at a local restaurant, complete with maps of the proposed route, to do a little planning. The trip looked pretty straightforward: south to Medicine Hat and a fuel stop, across the Cypress Hills, a refuel in Shaunavon, and then on to Swift Current for the night. The range and the extent of the trip became clear, and I realized, with Stu in the lead, I would be benefiting greatly from his knowledge and experience on this trip.

July 28th dawned clear and bright, with temperatures in the high teens. The winds were fair from the south and we were set for perfect take-off weather. I’m glad I arrived at the hangar an hour and a half before our 8:30 AM lift-off. The extra time was well spent performing numerous walk-arounds, packing and re-packing, and polishing the windscreen to like-new condition. Flight leader Stu soon arrived, and after his pre-flight, we briefed about our first leg and flight positions; then strapped in, started up, and soon we were headed south.

The weather was perfect and although the modest headwind slowed us a bit, we were certainly in no race to be anywhere in a hurry. Rich fields of various shades of green drifted by below us, punctuated now and again by the bright yellows of canola. We soon crossed the Bow River, lazily carving its way across the prairie landscape and our aerial adventure was on its way.

After several hours of pleasant sight-seeing, I began my first approach to Medicine Hat closely following Stu’s Merlin. Before long we were taxing up to the pumps at the local FBO and were met by a congenial line guy who promptly looked after our fuel needs and invited us to relax for a few minutes in the office lounge. The first leg of the journey was completed and although the nervous anticipation had not entirely worn off, it was great to be underway. In the distance to the southeast, I could see the faint outline of a pronounced elevation and I knew we were close to the Cypress Hills, an area I had not visited until now. Soon we were set to return to the air, but not before the Champ received one of many hand-props I would receive on the trip from an expert in the field, flight leader Stu. Firing on the first blade, we once again fell into line and taxied to the active, all with the help of the unseen and pleasant Medicine Hat Radio voice.

Gaining altitude, it became clear that a distinct elevation rise was not that far away and, in what seemed like a matter of a few minutes, we were flying alongside the steeply banked and forested slopes of the Cypress Hills. The noonday sun accentuated the rolling contours below mile after mile and created a sharp contrast to the relatively flat surrounding prairie. The view from our vantage point of 500 ft AGL allowed us to closely experience this geographic wonder in sharp detail as we skirted its perimeter in our low and slow fashion. I happily checked off in my mind one more area of the province I had always wanted to see, particularly from the air. The Hills were truly a delightful visual experience.

After a visually stunning hour and a half, we landed at Shaunavon, at the eastern edge of the Cypress area, and taxied up to the fuel pumps by a small cluster of hangars. The airfield was completely deserted and I immediately began to wonder about our ability to obtain fuel. On further examination of the fuel pump, we noticed a list of names and phone numbers taped to the glass that was obviously the local call-out list in the event that fuel was required. In short order, Stu was on the phone trying number one, a local business, but got no answer. We continued down the list and either received no answer, or in one case a very disinterested party that was too busy at the moment to come to our aid. Luckily the last number connected to a helpful voice promised to be out in about 30 minutes to fuel us up. While waiting in the increasing heat of the afternoon, a short walk confirmed that this seemed to be a very agricultural airfield, with the occasional ag-plane parked between hangars. To further confirm this, the young fuel supplier soon showed up and in the course of servicing our airplanes, revealed that he had a very early morning start helping out his father, a local air spray pilot, ready his Ag Cat for the day. We had roused him out of a short nap before returning to the field to help out with another spray load. We let him know how much his efforts were appreciated, then we were off and rolling for takeoff to Swift Current.

The terrain below soon began to change from the mottled browns of southern Alberta to a rich checkerboard of green farmlands of Saskatchewan as far as the eye could see. The forty-five minute flight to Swift Current, although somewhat bumpy in the afternoon heat, was a good introduction to the broad expanse we were to witness from the air. Even the clouds took on a different appearance, seemingly arranged in neat uniform rows, all the same cumulus shape and at the same altitude extending to the horizon like a huge canopy.

Soon I was lined up on final, with the shape of the faithful Merlin a quarter mile ahead leading the way. The Champ wove and bobbed in the rising afternoon air, and I executed one of those landings that was appreciated, but hopefully not witnessed by the locals. Taxiing over to the tie-down area, large white hangars of a bygone era loomed on the perimeter of the field and gave silent witness to their wartime heritage. Although large in area, the Swift Current airport was all but deserted being home to only a handful of private aircraft, some hangared and some tied down close where we opted to park. An engaging local pilot welcomed us to Swift Current and kept up a line of airplane chatter while we unloaded. I tried to be somewhat nonchalant about using my new tie-down kit, secretly harboring the fact that I had never used it before and had only tied down an airplane once or twice in the last decade and a half. I found the cargo straps were somewhat confounding until our still-chatting local advised me that I had the whole rig upside down. Not missing a beat, I reversed them expertly as if this was my daily routine.

Having buttoned up the airplanes, we gathered up our overnight baggage, and proceeded to wait for the Enterprise rental car to be delivered by the entry gate. I passed the time in quiet amazement that I had flown to another province in my own airplane, was in the process of leaving it outside, not at its home field for the first time. “What if it rains and it gets wet?” I thought to myself. I scanned the small collection of other outdoor airplanes that were sharing the same fate and thought at least the Champ will be in good company.

Soon the rental agency driver appeared, just as the adrenaline of a very full day was giving rise to a certain level of fatigue. We piled into the car and headed to town to drop off the driver and then onto the hotel. Stu’s native sense of direction took us to the highway strip and by a process of elimination, we found our lodgings and pulled into the parking lot. The hotel was actually a motel and, oddly enough, the office was on the outdoor second level. After the standard check-in procedure, we located our rooms (separate rooms, as Stu is rumored to produce all manner of nocturnal sound effects) and I proceeded to unpack what little I brought with me as baggage. The thought resounded, as I scanned the sparse but clean interior, that I had not driven to this town. I had flown here; in my own airplane. That’s right, we flew here.

After dinner at the local Boston Pizza, we took a car tour of the town and found it to be very clean and pleasant to be in. Neat small homes with manicured lawns and lazy sprinklers bordering on treed parks with duck ponds gave a sense of unreality and a feeling that we were definitely in a different place. We rounded out the evening at the local ice cream parlor and entertained ourselves by people-watching from the outdoor seating. The occasional polished muscle car cruised the street in front of us, creating the illusion of an entirely different era. Soon, with energy levels on reserve, we headed back to our accommodations and set an 8:00 AM meet-up time for the morning.

After a full breakfast, we picked up the driver at Enterprise and retraced our route back to the airport to begin preparations for another day of flying. The morning was crystal clear with cobalt blue skies, little wind, and the anticipation of excellent weather and further exploration was at a peak. With our checks all done, we taxied out and were airborne just before 10 AM, heading north to Kindersley for fuel. It would be a fine day for flying.

Having decided in advance that we would cruise at 500’ AGL, we were continually rewarded with the vast amount of detail we discovered in the landscape below. Many times I have heard disparaging remarks made about Saskatchewan in terms of its seemingly endless vista of flat, featureless terrain, but we were amazed at the subtle variety of rolling hills, river valleys, and numerous bodies of water, both large and small, that passed below our wings. A small Ukrainian church, luminous in its reflective silver finish, stood as a solitary beacon against a brilliant green background. Small towns were seen closely clustered around what was once an active, life-giving rail line which is now seemingly abandoned. Combined with the patchwork quilt quality of the farmland, this ever-changing geography witnessed at such a low altitude was a constant feast for the eyes and certainly encouraged a whole new assessment of our neighbor province to the east.

In less than half an hour, we landed at the Kindersley airport, quickly located and taxied up to the pumps. We chatted briefly with a few local folks while we fueled up and noticed a number of well-used agricultural aircraft on the nearby apron, their oily round engines and worn finishes a silent testament to their busy working careers. After strapping in and having my faithful “proptologist” Stu give me a blade, we launched to the northeast en route to Lloydminster.

Two hours later we were in contact with Lloyd radio. We were invited by a very welcoming voice to use the turf runway, and soon we were on final to land on a well-cared-for strip. With another fuel-up completed, we taxied to a grass border and began the tie-down ritual once more. A rental car was dispatched to pick us up and after a short wait, we were on our way to the hotel in this town that balances itself between two provinces. After a light meal, we convened in Stu’s room to plan out the next day’s route and it was soon decided to head for home, with a stop in Wetaskiwin.

On Saturday morning, we were greeted with a steel grey overcast and a steady wind from the southwest. After the rental car was returned and we were dropped off at the airport, Stu and I went about the task of making ready for the day’s flying. Taking off into the steady breeze just before 10 AM, the cool air made for a smooth, if not slightly slower progress towards our destination. The landscape below was going through a subtle transformation, and gone were the wide-open vistas of the day before, replaced by random bodies of water and an increasingly mixed palette of browns and dull greens as our aircraft arced further into Alberta. We sampled various altitudes in an attempt to evade what had begun to be increasingly turbulent air as the morning approached the noon hour. By the time we had reached Wetaskiwin, the idyllic sightseeing of the day before had been replaced by a vigilant concentration to stay stable and on course. Fueled once again, we set our sights on home and lifted off into the uneven and opposing warm breeze that dogged us mile after mile, making for a fatiguing several hours in the cockpit.

Soon recognizable small towns appeared on the horizon and although we had been away for a relatively short time, it felt very satisfying to be approaching home base. Although brief in duration, the trip had given me an opportunity to hone some rusty skills and had put to rest any doubts about the integrity of both the aircraft and engine I had just flown with. The trip afforded me the chance to see a variety of landscapes, experience new airports and towns, and expand my flying confidence. A large measure of thanks is due to Stu Simpson for the invitation to join him on this adventure and for the valuable mentoring I received during my time flying alongside him and Merl. Where to next… and when do we leave?