A stormy Friday evening found the Fat Wing Flyers rolling across the tarmac of the Craig Moffat Airport in Craig, Colorado. I was the first to arrive. I accessed the gate code, surveyed the low hanging wires for clearance, and drove my motorhome in pulling my aircraft trailer behind me. Joe arrived shortly after, driving his Dodge pickup with his Dream Machine loaded in the back on display for the world to stare at, and stare they do. Not long after, Bill drove in with his diesel powered Winnebago, aircraft trailer in tow. Following on the heels, or fenders, rather of Bill, Perry arrived in his cool little rental motorhome pulling his similar sized aircraft trailer behind. We were soon joined by Ted and Jennifer. Ted, not fond of the idea of pulling his open trailered Pegasus through snow and hail, had left his flying machine behind, safe and dry in the garage.

Being a cold and windy evening, we decided to go out for dinner. I recommended a great little rib joint in Craig wittingly named Bad To The Bone. We sat outside under patio heaters and enjoyed the ribs and the camaraderie.

I awoke at four a.m. to the sound of rain tapping on my roof. Normally a lovely sound, I found it disappointing as I was really looking forward to flying my home town and river valley on my birthday. Seven a.m., the rain still unrelenting. By nine, however, the rain had stopped and the winds were calm. The sky was dark with rain clouds, and the runways were wet, but the wind forecast was acceptable and we decided to fly. I had never flown under such ominous skies, but the flight turned out to be a real treat. We flew east along the Yampa River a few miles towards Steamboat Springs then turned south and headed up into the hills. We found and investigated four huge coal shovels that are used for surface mining coal for the purpose of fueling the huge electric plant south of Craig. It was a great feeling, as I had recently completed testing for the Sport Pilot certification and my Dream Machine had passed inspection and was now a registered aircraft, N2520Z. It was fun calling out airport departures and arrivals using my new N number. All four aircraft landed safely and we enjoyed a cache of burgers and fries kindly brought in by Ted and Jennifer. Shortly after which we met a local pilot who had just completed a four-year project building his own Vans Aircraft. It was a very nice, good looking high-speed aircraft and we enjoyed his company throughout the weekend.

Early evening arrived and the skies were anything but clear. However the forecast was not bad and we took to the skies again. The air was calm and the scenery was wonderful as we headed west out of town along the Yampa River. I had grown up along this river, floating it during warm summer days, walking the banks late afternoons fishing for trout, spending colorful autumns hunting ducks and geese with my dad, and spending winter days hiking the frozen ice covered waterway. We flew along the river, amazed at the abundant and diverse wildlife. During that relatively short evening flight, we spotted antelope, deer, elk, coyotes, fox, rabbits, geese, ducks, cranes, white pelicans, ravens, night hawks, red tailed hawks, a large flock of buzzards circling below us, and a pair of bald eagles to top it all off. It was a very special flight for me and one I will always remember. Arriving back at the airport just after sunset, Joe lit up the runway lights for us with his transmit button and we set down on runway two five.

Not long after landing and putting our aircraft to bed for the night, we were drawn from our cozy motorhomes by a loud screaming noise. We were quite amazed to see a rather large jet land on this small county airport and taxi passed us to drop off a few passengers. We stood watching as it taxied out to runway 25 and screamed off into the night. We were told later that it was probably some rich hunters flying in to one of the most popular hunting spots in the U.S. My mind drifted back to my youth, remembering how autumn hunting season always seemed to double the population of Craig and big game hunters arrived from all over the country. These few weeks were a huge economic boost to Craig, one that the small town would have fared poorly without.

Early Sunday morning found us warming up our flying machines and smiling at the partially blue skies and calm winds. Growing up in Craig, I would occasionally hike to the top of Cedar Mountain with my friends. I always thought how cool it would be to just fly up and over it like a hawk. Forty years later I was finally ready to realize that dream. The four of us took off, skirted the east end of town and headed to Cedar Mountain. It was a beautiful morning and the view from high above the mountain was fantastic.

After circling the crest of the dormant volcano a few times I headed back toward Craig, as I wanted to fly over The Sand Rocks and take some photos of the house I grew up in. Taken at an early age by the Spirit of Adventure, I cut my teeth on The Sand Rocks, clambering around on the fifty to one hundred foot cliffs from six years old. My world was about two miles in diameter, which consisted of the entire town, river and surrounding countryside in which I had free reign at a very young age. I was in about as much danger as Opie roaming around Mayberry.

Using telephoto, I got some good pictures of The Sand Rocks and of my house which, I noticed gratefully, seemed to be a well kept sixty-year-old house.

Meanwhile, Bill, Perry and Joe had decided to follow a beautiful green valley meandering through the hills. This valley held Fortification Creek which worked its way north, climbing in elevation until it originated somewhere in the forests of Black Mountain and Bears Ears. I hadn’t actually thought of flying this route, but following my Fellow Fat Wing Flyers turned out to be the best flight of the weekend. Not only was it beautiful country, but the wildlife was totally overwhelming. At one point I had a flock of cranes flying just off my left wing, deer, elk, antelope, sage chickens, hawks, ducks, geese, a coyote and a bushy tailed fox all within sight. Suddenly I felt I had slipped over the edge from reality to the surreal, which left me speechless.

We had been up a long time and were concerned about our fuel status, so we made our way back to the airport. We all landed safely, packed up and headed out, Joe and I back home, Perry and Bill continuing their flying adventure through eastern Colorado and into Kansas, their final destination the Extravaganza. The last I heard, they were involved in some type of strange adventure where Bill ended up disappearing under Perry’s chute in a tangle of lines. Can’t wait to hear the details of that story.

The Flight of the Yampa River Valley was a very special one for me. I saw more of the Valley in two days than I saw in the eighteen years I lived there and it seemed even more beautiful than I remembered. I will always remember that weekend and I really appreciate Bill, Joe and Perry for sharing the experience with me, and for putting up with my constant childhood stories as we flew over each area that inspired a tale or two.