From TX to NH Slowly...Via a 1940 J-3 Cub
I’ve always known that someday I’d own a Cub. From the day that I soloed in Montpelier, VT in 1970, through years of flying large jets around the country, wherever I’d see one, I’d make an effort to look her over and speak with its owner. While advancing through the flying ranks, all my friends could talk about were multi-engine, constant speed, turbine powered twins, while I gravitated towards Cubs and DC-3’s. I’m fascinated by the history of aviation, those who made it and the clean lines of antique airplanes. My friends thought I was nuts to seek out a Cub. If I wanted that type of aircraft they argued, “at least get a Champ, you can actually go somewhere in it”. Champ’s are great airplanes, I’ve spent many enjoyable hours in one, but the object of my desire was a little yellow Cub. I simply yearned to “putt putt” around on a summer evening with the doors open and enjoy the fragrance of freshly mowed hay fields. Also, landing on frozen lakes in the winter would be fun, too.
When I finally discovered and purchased my Cub, which, incidentally, I hadn’t flown one in 20 years, I really hadn’t anticipated a 1,600 nautical mile journey home. My quest lead me to Denton, Texas and a young Lear Jet pilot/entrepreneur, resigned to selling his Cub to fund a business venture. Smart kid. If you’re determined to become a professional pilot in today’s environment, you’d better have a back up plan…or two. To make my flight home even more adventuresome and in line with the age of the airplane, I decided to navigate by dead reckoning. I purchased the appropriate sectional charts, drew my lines, noted obstructions, planned fuel stops, noted magnetic variances, mileage and studied my route from Texas to New Hampshire to avoid metropolitan areas. Not entirely in keeping though, I did purchase a handheld comm radio, to attach to the existing, externally mounted antenna. I also carried a GPS, just in case I got in over my head, but it never came out of my duffel bag. So with my wet compass, watch, pencil and chart, I was determined to find my way home to Brookline, New Hampshire.
Desiring to not waste the sellers time nor mine, we negotiated over the phone and used the Internet to exchange detailed pictures. When I arrived in Denton to inspect the Cub, the airplane and its logbooks were exactly as advertised; there were no surprises. I flew her a bit, inspected her closely with a mechanic, studied the logs, shook hands and finalized a deal. With my insurance pre-arranged, I mailed the FAA the appropriately signed Registration and Bill of Sale, (forms 8050-1 and 8050-2) as the owner completed the annual inspection.
While there, I met many of his friends who flew a variety of colorful taildraggers and offered welcomed advice concerning flying in the south. Early the next morning, I was airborne headed towards Arkansas. I hadn’t flown too awfully far though, as moderate rain and low clouds forced my retreat to Denton, delaying my departure until later in the afternoon. Eastbound, past Lakes Lewisville and Lavon and huge communication towers, something I’m not accustomed to in New England, I followed Interstate 30 as I raced an early setting November sun to land at Mt. Pleasant in northeast Texas.
Just prior to the airport though, a little east of Sulpher Springs, I encountered a B-52. I was flying at about 1,500 feet agl when from the corner of my eye, I noticed this large green mass moving in my direction, that blended in pretty well with the ground below. Camouflage does work! As the massive B-52 flew beneath me, the crew slowly rocked their wings in passing. With the vortices that that airplane must produce, I was thankful that I wasn’t below him. It’s the first time I’d ever seen the top of such a large airplane from so close!
Landing and spending time at Mt. Pleasant, Texas was even nicer than the name implied. The airfield was brand new and home to several large corporate jets. The pavement, the grass, the buildings, the fuel farm and hangars, even the yellow and white pavement stripes were new and unfaded. The airport manager greeted me as if I’d arrived in a Falcon Jet, introduced me all around and made room in a hangar to protect the Cub. The next morning, with visibility less than a hundred yards in fog, he proudly gave me a personal tour of all the antique airplanes in the area.
I experienced a treasure chest of history including DC-3’s, Stearmans, Cessna 190’s and Waco’s, all in pristine condition. We enjoyed lunch downtown where I met a large contingency of the local Chamber of Commerce. They were all friendly and very interested in my flight and certainly for my welfare while in their town. By late afternoon, the visibility improved and sufficient sun remained for me to leave my new friends and attempt a flight to Hope, Arkansas. But not before the airport manager called ahead to assure that the local FBO could accommodate the Cub overnight.
By Rand K. Peck, Part 1 of 3