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- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Archives Revels Classifieds Real Estate Menu Guide Wedding Weather Subscribe Contact Us December 26, 2005 Essentially Ashland Touch and go: Learning to fly in Ashland Lance Pugh In the mid-1970s, my wife, Annette, and I began certification for a private pilot’s license at the Ashland airport. Although relatively expensive, we soon became involved with friends who had made the same choice and began flying with our instructor, a retired commercial pilot who had nerves of steel and unending patience, the two things required of an instructor, at least from my perspective. Civilian aviation has become the backbone of the way we look at ourselves as icons of free spirit: Instead of riding the range smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, one flies in the skies, free from speed limits and the choke of stalled traffic ... breezing into landing patterns that exist over many thousands of airports across the nation. Sounded good to me. I have never liked tall ladders or trees in need of trimming. That is why I call in professionals when tasks more than a few feet high need to be done. The only fall I want to hear about comes between summer and winter. The Ashland Municipal Airport is also known as Sumner Parker Field. The City of Ashland acquired the airport in the mid-1960s from Sumner A. Parker, and by 1968 was officially dedicated as the Ashland Municipal Airport. Parker’s grandfather was William B. Parker, who was among the 1846 pioneers who mapped out the Applegate Trail (southern route of the Oregon Trail), an arduous alternative to the main Oregon Trail route, which had hapless travelers floating down treacherous rapids in the Columbia River. The three Applegate brothers (Lindsay, Jesse, and Charles) lost two sons and “Uncle Mac” to the frothing rapids in the Columbia Gorge while en route to settling in the Willamette Valley. They vowed to find a safer way and headed south to the Rogue Valley, creating a path that is now I-5, then east over the Greensprings to the Humboldt River, south-west of Winnemucca. They followed the river upstream, past Elko, then further upstream to Wells. Then they took a left turn at the tumbleweed and north to Fort Hall, Idaho for provisions and to hook up to the original Oregon Trail. What took months back then can now be accomplished in a few hours in an airplane. This aerial shot looking northwest from the Ashland airport as I-5 is completed is from the collection of Ashland Library, supplied by Terry Skibbey. Whitland Locke | Submitted photo My first solo cross-country flight was to Kingsley Field in Klamath Falls, then to Montague before popping over the Siskiyous for a hopefully happy landing in Ashland. I departed Ashland in an uneventful manner, though after a night of fitful sleep, abundantly laden with visions of 10,000 ways a single engine airplane can encounter all manners of trouble. On my approach to Kingsley, I mimicked the voice of Chuck Yeager and informed them of my upcoming arrival. Thinking that I was as good as I sounded I was quickly vectored into a hurried landing, almost stalling the aircraft in the process. As I lined up for the landing I was told to “hurry up” as I had a twin turbo prop hot on my tail. In my rush to get out of the way I braked rapidly, smoking the tires and nearly tipping over the airplane. I taxied to a guest tie-down, turned everything off and opened the door, all the while panting like a greyhound after a lap of mechanical bunny-chasing. After a short walk to regain my confidence, I took off without incident and headed toward Montague, then back to Ashland. I had never seen the field at Montague, but ahead of me was a huge runway with plenty of room for my type of landing. I dialed my radio to what I thought was a proper frequency to inform the Fixed Base Operator of my location, heading and intentions. A female voice responded, saying that I could put it down right next to the tower. Now that was economy for you, instructed not to use the runway by to land on the apron and smoke to a halt before hitting the tower. When I questioned the approach instructions she said: “Well, you’re a helicopter, aren’t you?” I responded that my aircraft had fixed wings and the propeller was in front of me, not over my head. In frustration she blew back: “How was I to know? Besides, I’m only the janitor.” Minutes later I landed, taxied to a tie-down and went inside. No one was there, but true to her word, the floors were spotless. I had landed at Siskiyou County Airport, which was then mainly used as a fire attack base. Though located approximately 4 miles NE of the Montague Airport, my landing on the wrong airfield did not promote my self-confidence, which was, that day, in need of a soaring lift. Sweat-drenched and itchy, I flew Northward to and over Pilot Rock, which was a visual clue that could be seen for many days by early emigrants heading from California toward Oregon. As I lined up for a final approach I looked downward at Emigrant Lake, remembering how the Hudson Bay Boys, Jacksonville Gold Rush mobs, passengers in the Concord stagecoaches, ribbon steel riders of the railroads, model “T” adventurers on Highway 99, then, in the mid-’60s, freeway drivers all made it to the Rogue Valley over the Siskiyou Pass. All have, in their own way at the best speed of their time, made it to and through Ashland, the gateway to the Siskiyous. I landed in my usual fashion, a few feet short of the runway and somewhat too fast. Jim, my flight instructor, constantly asked me why I was drawn to land in the dirt when there was so much fine asphalt runway free to use. I never had a good answer, though it was my desire to get back on the ground that kept me in this dusty habit. As I taxied to the tie-down and shut off the engine, I could still see through the expanse of time as tenacious travelers did what was required to travel to and through Southern Oregon In any event, I walked away from the aircraft, which is the very definition of a good landing. Future columns will focus on various businesses as well as key individuals and events that will lead the charge from times past to lend perspective to the revival of Ashland. Send your favorite remembrances to: [email protected]. 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