My father's adventure

If asked to describe himself, he probably would not entertain the question. He never cared to waste time needlessly speaking. He was a challenge to define. Even though I knew him my entire life, I only knew him for a fraction of his. However, as most aviators would attest, the stories we share of our flights, harrowing or notable, are the ones we tell as a reflection of ourselves. Of my father’s many flying stories, my favorite was of his solo trip from New York to England in a Piper Super Cub on straight floats in 1965.

It was never his style to over-narrate, and because of that I had limited details of the trip. I know he met Charles Lindbergh around this time and discussed the altitude at which one should fly across Penobscot Bay in Maine (perhaps Mr. Lindbergh inspired my father’s trans-Atlantic voyage). I knew my father to be bold, unafraid of weather, and eager to go as far as an airplane could, believing that trouble would never find him (or if it did, that he would find a way out). He was a mosaic of a New York City cultured class meets grease monkey. But I never knew him to emphasize his accolades or successes, which made finding the floats he used on that challenging journey such a sublime experience.

I could imagine what it must have been like. He had no GPS, and the rear seat was removed so he could pump fuel from a 50-gallon tank into the wings. He sat for 11-hour legs, utterly alone, searching for signals on the radio. Safety gear was present but given what I knew about his time on the open seas, limited. On his return trip a year later, between headwinds and wing icing, he thought he would have to ditch on an ice shelf in Greenland. He would tell the story in a proud, but brief and quiet way, as if it were some weekend excursion out of the city.

While handling his affairs after his death, I cleaned my way through the numerous hangars he had filled with various things throughout his life. There in the back, hidden behind vacuums, tools, even an old X-ray machine, was a pair of PK straight floats, with fully intact rigging, in great condition. Could these be the floats he took to England?

With the encouragement of several pilot friends, I became inspired to learn more about these relics. I soon found out that PK was still manufacturing floats in Lincoln, Maine, not too far from where my father did most of his flying. I called the office. It was not long into the story of my father’s journey that Levi, the PK rep, asked, “Was your father a doctor from New York?” When I confirmed it, Levi excitedly said, “We keep an article about his journey in the office!” With that, he gave me a missing piece of lore, a public acknowledgment of my father’s adventure and something that I cherish as a record of his character that he rarely talked about.

My father passed away in 2022 and I think about him often, mostly when I am flying his Super Cub around the islands of Maine. While I find three to four hours to be the limit for ergonomic comfort, the encouragement for adventure that I received from my father extends indefinitely. So, what to do with straight floats? Maybe one day they’ll make it to England.

James “Jamey” Gaston grew up flying with his father, specifically to Maine, where they would pick up lobsters for their family restaurant in New York. He has owned a Cessna 172 and Piper J-3 but now flies his father’s 182RG and Super Cub. Candlelight Farms (11N) in New Milford, Connecticut, is home base.