Go Fly

My phone buzzed one Saturday afternoon. "Any desire to fly to Cheat River Island airfield tomorrow?" read the text. "I'm thinking of going over. About a 1:20 min flight one way."

Who among us would pass up this invitation from Richard? He had a storied flying career, flew F–15 Eagles in the U.S. Air Force, was flight leader of the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds, and led the AOPA Air Safety Institute, among many other achievements. But mostly, he was my friend—and I relished the times we could break away from work to fly our tailwheel airplanes to obscure grass runway airports.

"A woman named Rose Ganim is going to join us," the text continued. "She flies a Super Cub. I saw her parked on the AOPA ramp this evening. [AOPA Senior Editor] Jill Tallman will be in her backseat."

That's how a typical adventure with Richard would begin. Yes, he enjoyed flying his Super Cub. But more so, he loved the GA community and showing us how to expand our skills in a safe way. We launched at 9 a.m., a loose formation of three airplanes flying low over the Allegheny Mountains. We alternated between chatty conversation on the air-to-air frequency and long periods of silence as we enjoyed the calm air and the intoxicating view of mist rising from warm rivers into cool fall skies.

Only Richard had previously flown to our destination—a private airfield with three short grass runways on a tiny island in the middle of the Cheat River near Rowlesburg, West Virginia. With mountains rising east and west from the river's edge, its location is only obvious when flying directly overhead.

Richard knew the path and led me and Rose in a follow-the-leader style approach like a mother duck leading her ducklings. Our traffic pattern was anything but rectangular as we dodged mountain ridges inconveniently placed where we should be flying downwind and final. Richard pointed out landmarks and called altitudes and airspeeds as he made his approach, and we followed and learned. As Rose and I landed, Richard called out words of encouragement and praise. It was a tricky approach, and one Rose and I might not have attempted without Richard as guide.

We shut down and recounted our arrival in excited tones before taking a selfie of the four of us in front of our airplanes. Freedom, achievement, adventure, beauty, friendship—so much was wrapped up in that moment captured forever in that photograph.

Rose and Jill were the first to depart after a quick lunch. Richard and I waved to them as they rapidly ascended and disappeared over the mountains. Richard mentioned that zipline gear was stored in the hangar, and so we made our first-ever attempts at ziplining; other than by boat, it was the only way on or off the island. We fumbled with the gear and laughed at each other as we took videos of our brief journeys over the Cheat River. One of us almost fell into the rive—I won't say who.

I was ready to head home, but Richard wasn't. He wanted to test a new butane-powered portable coffee maker he had just purchased. He'd stay a bit longer to enjoy the majesty—and solitude—of this special backcountry airport setting.

On takeoff, I wagged my wings at Richard, sitting on his camping chair sipping his home-roasted coffee. Richard waved back—peaceful, content. That's a memory of Richard I'll keep in my mind forever.

He encouraged us to fly, to explore, to appreciate life.

Let's celebrate Richard's life. Let's go fly.