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In Flight USA Articles
Billy Goat at 12 O’Clock High
By Charlie Briggs
Aviation buffs read a lot of flying stories from pros who write articles on a regular basis. While often entertaining and informative, hearing from professional pilots sometimes lacks the real world experiences of the hundreds of thousands of aircraft owners and flyers who were never professional pilots, but simply lived with an airplane as a permanent family member. Such is the case with Charlie Briggs, a pilot for more than 65 years, having a career that included ranching, agricultural services and consulting, computer technologies and business concept development. In Flight USA invites readers to join Charlie as he reminisces about flying and life. You will experience a side of aviation that is informative, entertaining and personal. Enjoy.
Once upon a time, there came to this earth, a Billy Goat. This was no ordinary goat.
This one was destined to achieve what no other goat on earth had or likely will do. In fact, it couldn’t because the adventure of “Elmer” was the first. Now when you are the first of anything, that’s it. It’s the first. Elmer’s home was a nice roomy pasture lying in the winding river bottom carved out of the flat western Kansas prairie being the “Smoky Hill River.”
In the regular world, Billy Goats are not known as aviators. Well, neither was our pet goat “Elmer.” His “jump” into history was definitely not of his choosing. Just fate. Here is how it happened.
My wife and I were married in December of 1949. In the summer of 1951, we were “selected” to move to Logan County, Kansas to assume the operations of the families’ 25-section ranch and farming project. We left college and really went to “school,” leaving the security of our homestead country and friends to be 25 miles from the nearest town, living in a mobile home, with no phone, portable electric power, and having to haul all our drinking and household water from municipal sources many miles away. Now married for 63 amazing years, I had developed a plan of compromise. It has worked. If my wife wanted something, if I could get it for her, I just did. Well, here the early plot thickens.
My Scary Event in Cow Country
By Charlie Briggs
It all started out very routine. The plane was a new model 150 hp, Mooney Mark 20 with less than 100 hours TT. The trip was for buying cattle. The weather was clear and calm. The route was direct from Amarillo, Texas’ Tradewind Airport to a ranch just south of Springer, N.M. on the east slope of the Rockies. Springer is on Highway 56 and approximately 90 miles west of Clayton, N.M. This route was to play a role in this event.
Landing on a smooth, grassy pasture near the ranch headquarters, I was met by the rancher. We spent the day looking at various sets of cattle. As evening drew near, nothing would do but “stay for a steak.” After an evening of exchanging “cow country tales” it was time to get home.
College Time Flights and Buzzes
By Charlie Briggs
To the glee of me and the distress of my fraternity members at Sigma Nu, Kansas state chapter, plus the use of my father’s Luscombe, this really happened. Dad leased “long stem grass” pastures in the Manhattan, Kans. Area, and was there on business, and to see me. Seizing on the opportunity to “get in a little air time,” he agreed to let me take a sightseeing flight of the area.
The year was 1949! I had a fresh new private pilots license and the experience of less than 100 hours of solo time. It is reported that 100 hours is the most dangerous time of a pilot’s career.
Looking back, I believe it. There is little that scares you and much to entice you to “slip the surly bonds” of common sense and do darned fool things. This was one of those things.
An Early Trip to Texas and a Unique Grass Seeding System
By Charlie Briggs
The year was 1946. The plane was small. The hour was early. The weather was good. The destination was Seminole, Texas. For me this was like going to another country. I looked it up on the map. It was 420 air miles. Going another direction we could have been going to Denver or Kansas City!
My father’s plane was a new Luscombe 8E. All metal and sturdy, it boasted a continental engine that purred along at a neat 100 miles per hour from the efforts of the 85 horses stored in the four dependable cylinders up front. No big appetite for fuel either, and using a miserly four gallons per hour at less than 30 cents per gallon, it was a real bargain in transportation.
The pre-flight was quite simple and took all of about five minutes. Check the controls, drain the sump, check the oil, make sure no owls made a nest under the cowl, and it basically was time to get cranking.