Flatlander's flight in the backcountry

Whether your enthusiasm is piqued by a YouTube video or you visited one of these airstrips yourself, as a pilot, you will want to personally experience backcountry flying someday. There is a natural beauty that words cannot adequately capture. Imagine a perfectly manicured grass strip nestled near the river at the bottom of a valley, majestic mountain vistas in every direction, pristine camping spots, and easy access to hiking and biking trails. Then add scenic mountain lakes, all manner of wildlife, excellent fishing, and the friendliest pilots. Backcountry flying also allows pilots to demonstrate their finely honed skills to get in and out of challenging areas safely, usually accompanied by the plaudits from onlookers for making that approach and landing look easy.

The backcountry is a siren to pilots wanting to commune with nature and have some serious fun with their aircraft. Ask anyone who has experienced Northwestern Arkansas, Colorado, Montana, or Idaho, and you’ll hear why this type of flying is so attractive to pilots. (You might also hear that it’s not all that great—that’s code for “don’t ruin it for those of us who know the secret.”) Excellent backcountry airstrips exist all over the country. I recently experienced Idaho’s backcountry airstrips along the Middle Fork of the Salmon River from the right seat of a Cessna 182 and gained new appreciation for precision flying at high altitude. New appreciation because—well—I’m a “flatlander.”

As Jeff Foxworthy might say, you might be a “Flatlander” if you:

• Never experienced flying near a canyon wall on downwind.
• Can’t hit a 100-foot spot from a steep approach while maintaining 8 knots above stall speed.
• Never landed at a one-way-in/one-way-out gravel strip.

Experienced backcountry pilots label us as “flatlanders” because we are apparently easy to spot. We don’t know the lingo, haven’t sought the training, or show up at a backcountry strip using the same procedures as if we were at our home airport. And we make these mistakes with life-threatening consequences. Flying in the backcountry for the first time demands pilots acquire and master new skills and knowledge.

In 2024, there were several avoidable fatal accidents in the backcountry and a few near misses. Some appeared to be caused by high, fast, nonstabilized approaches to a long flare, a few bounces, and a late go-around attempt resulting in a stall and loss of control into terrain. Others involved scud-running into unintentional IMC and controlled flight into terrain (CFIT). Why do pilots make these mistakes? Did they forget the basics of airspeed and altitude management in the pattern? Are they not aware of the preflight planning and backcountry procedural information available on websites hosted by state aviation departments or pilot associations? Have they not practiced a high-altitude go-around to measure the real performance on that day at that temperature, at that gross weight?

In only two days of experiencing the backcountry in Idaho, I observed two important themes: Formal backcountry training is readily available from experienced flight instructors, and it’s not how well you fly, it’s how well you fly slow. Getting comfortable with flying slowly is a critical skill when executing a 180-degree turn in a canyon, because the radius of turn at any given bank angle is directly proportional to the square of the airspeed. This means doubling the airspeed results in a radius of turn that is four times greater.

The pilot I flew with (Ben “Evil” Cook) is a graduate of a local mountain flying course and a seasoned CFI. After a review of the Idaho Aviation Association FlyIdaho guidebooks, Cook put the 1958 Skylane through a series of slow flight and stall maneuvers to capture stall speed and power setting in a 20-degree bank with two notches and then three notches of flaps. He then calculated “canyon speed” and approach speed that was 1.2 times the stall speed. Armed with these speeds, we proceeded to explore some of the Class 1 and Class 2 airstrips including Mahoney, Warren, and Johnson Creek. Each airstrip was different, but each required the same set-up: Remain clear of the firefighting TFRs, review the recommended approach path, establish canyon airspeed, overfly to confirm no wildlife or obstructions, set up a stabilized approach, make the go-around decision early, commit to the landing inside the go-around point, and then manage the speed and descent to within 100 feet of the desired touchdown point. If any parameter deviated, we executed a go-around. Slow, steady, measured, and calculated every time.

I am happy with my decision to experience the backcountry the first time in the right seat. And now, the backcountry is calling—loudly. This flatlander will be back—but next time for some formal instruction and in the left seat!

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