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Splash and Dash Searey Seaplane Delights

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Dan Nickens - Oct 11,2003 Viewers | Reply


	Searey Times Three – A Summertime Searey Sojourn<br /><br />Day One – Wednesday, July 4, 2001<br /><br />“The weather forecast looks bad,” I said to Myself. “Seaplanes and thunderstorms don’t mix.”<br /><br />“Thunderstorms happen every afternoon,” Me interjected. “It’s a humid summertime in the southeast. Mix sun and water and it happens. We can just navigate around them or park if we have to.”<br /><br />“Navigate around them in a little old seaplane?” I said. “No way. The airplane is too slow.”<br /><br />“So we stop,” Me said. “There are worse things, like not going at all.”<br /><br />“We could just stay,” Myself suggested, “and fly around the local area during the mornings.”<br /><br />“Now that is a most sensible plan,” I said.<br /><br />“It’s boring,” Me quickly shot back. “We do that all the time. We have an extended time frame this week for flying, the opportunity to do so, and now we just need the gumption to do it.”<br /><br />I rolled his eyes. “What we really need are the guts to do the sensible thing.”<br /><br />Me’s argument had an impact on Myself. “We can plan a trip that involves traveling early in the morning hours before the thunderstorms.”<br /><br />“Yeah, that’ll work. Let’s go,” Me said.<br /><br />I was still a bit dubious. “That is feasible, I suppose, providing we can get Me up at a reasonable hour for a prompt departure.” Me glared at him.<br /><br />“I’m sure we can handle that,” Myself interjected. “Where should we go?”<br /><br />Me was ready with, “Let’s go to the Bahamas.”<br /><br />“No,” I said. “We’re not prepared for an international flight. We don’t have the large registration numbers or the Customs sticker. Let’s set our sights somewhere else less demanding, like the Carolinas.”<br /><br />Myself had another idea. “How about Tennessee? We’ve always wanted to fly the waterways of the Center Hill Reservoir. While we’re there we can stop at Grandma’s farm for a short visit. We can then fly back to Huntsville and check in on Ann’s new golf course.”<br /><br />Me shook his head, “That’s way too tame.”<br /><br />“It’s not!” I said. “We aren’t prepared for anything unconventional enough to satisfy you!”<br /><br />“But look here,” Myself said pointing at the map. “See the rivers we can follow? The Chattahoocee leads up into Middle Georgia. Then we can fly to the Tennessee River and follow it around to Oak Ridge, jump the Appalachian Mountains and land in Center Hill. Coming back we can follow the rivers south of Huntsville to the Black Warrior and the Mobile Rivers to the coast. The Gulf Coast is always a pleasure.” That worked. It was a threesome.<br /><br />The consensus was reached at 0800 the morning of July 4. By 0900 we were at the airport. Oscar was there too. His airplane was parked in front of the Searey’s hangar home.<br /><br />“Going flying today, Oscar?”<br /><br />“Just putting the finishing touches on the Buc. Figured on following you. Where are we going?”<br /><br />“To Tennessee.”<br /><br />“Tennessee? Which airplane are you taking? The Centurion?”<br /><br />“Nope. Either the Husky or the Searey.”<br /><br />He had a blank stare, then he shrugged. “Either way this ole Buc isn’t going to Tennessee. Maybe it’ll get as far as the coast.”<br /><br />“You can follow us to Lake Apopka. There’s an anniversary to be commemorated by landing there.”<br /><br />“Yeah, the windshield washing you took there last year, eh?”<br /><br />“The very same.”<br /><br />First we had to decide which airplane to take.<br /><br />“The obvious choice is the Husky,” I stated. “It’s faster and more reliable. We’ll have a better chance of avoiding the thunderstorms and it is IFR capable. Let’s take it.”<br /><br />“No way, Jose,” Me said. “The point is to have fun, not get somewhere fast. The Searey is more fun. We won’t be flying IFR anyway. Let’s take the Searey.”<br /><br />Oscar almost settled it. He was going flying and his GPS had been temporarily pressed into use in the Searey.<br /><br />“That clinches it,” I said to Myself. “We’re not launching on a cross-country trip without any navigational capability besides dead reckoning.”<br /><br />“Chicken! Real pilots don’t need no stinking GPS.” Me was getting agitated. “We can fly the rivers.”<br /><br />“Actually, we could take the portable GPS from the Husky.” Myself pointed out. Even I had to admit that certainly gave us all the toys we needed.<br /><br />We taxied to the runway in the Searey behind Oscar’s Buc II. We watched as Oscar’s takeoff was quickly aborted. The pitch on his new prop wasn’t set right.<br /><br />“We should stop and help him fix it,” Me said.<br /><br />“If we do, we’ll be here until the thunderstorms roll in,” I said. “We might as well cancel this trip anyway.”<br /><br />Myself just pushed the throttle in and we were off.<br /><br />The first order of business was a deviation to the south over Lake Apopka. The big lake serenely reflected the small cumulus clouds on its mirror-like surface.<br /><br />“Not this year, Ms. Apopka!” Everyone agreed that the lady was best left undisturbed in her condition.<br /><br />The airplane turned towards the northeast. “Head for the coast!” Me directed. I pointed out that would add to our distance and time. “Time is critical. We need to get north of Tallahassee before the weather starts moving in from the coast. We’ve seen the gulf coast many times anyway.” That made sense to Myself. We headed overland towards the panhandle town of Chattahoochee and its associated river.<br /><br />Somehow we quickly located a lake that was without a prior logged Searey landing. I objected to stopping because of the clouds that were quickly turning an angry gray at an early age. The rest of us abided by the unwritten rule that every local lake had to be christened.<br /><br />The quick splash failed to placate Me. He was still irritated about our direct route. He pointed to the forests that we were flying over. “If we had gone to the coast, we’d have had many emergency landing areas. Setting this thing down in the trees would be no fun.” He was right.<br /><br />Maybe that’s why we all agreed to set down on the grass strip at Trenton. We’d never visited Ames Field (8J2) and it looked like there might be restroom facilities (at least there were plenty of trees).<br /><br />For a little country airport, it lacked the normal welcoming ambiance. The strip was rough, the guy restoring an old Cub greeted us perfunctorily, and there were no curious inquiries about the Searey.<br /><br />I was a little smug when we saw the first shower firing out of a towering cloud. “That’s why we can’t afford any more dalliance,” he said. The clouds formed a ring around the coastline like a giant white picket fence. Me, however, pointed to the gulf waters that were cloudless.<br /><br />The airport guidebook promised a restaurant located on the field at Tallahassee Commercial (68J). It lied, or was just out of date. The dilapidated barb

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