Green spaces
An open secret of general aviation is that airplane tires are happier on grass. So, I might add, are pilots.
Where I fly in the mid-Atlantic, a pilot grapevine relays insight into which grass strips have great camping and which owners of private-use fields will grant permission to land with a friendly phone call. Although many of these turf denizens own tailwheel airplanes, which are particularly at home on grass, 172s and other family travelers access grass strips just as easily. My logbook is full of landings on spacious paved runways, so I recently asked AOPA Chief Flight Instructor Mike Filucci to guide me through a grass landing.
We didn’t have to go far. We climbed into a Van’s RV–12, and Filucci had me enter the identifier for a private field 16 nautical miles away, owned by a pilot who had given us permission to use the field for training. Two fellow pilots had flown out the previous week and reported conditions were good for landing.
On the short flight, I peppered Filucci with city slicker questions: How would I make out the field amid the crops and pastures of Virginia? How could I identify signs of a soggy field or tall grass unsuitable for landing? With no runway markings, how do I estimate an abort point? How much does grass add to takeoff distance?
We’re fortunate to fly in an airspace system where 5,000 public-use airports connect us to communities across the nation and provide safe landing sites along cross-country routes in case of emergency. Many have long, paved runways and inviting FBOs, offering such assurances as obstacle clearance, visual approach guidance, instrument approach procedures, and tower controllers—all of which I can research before I arrive.
Private fields are more variable. Some 14,400 landing sites are maintained for private use in the United States, many of them grass strips with bends and bumps and trees on either side. Those of us who trained on mile-long asphalt runways must give performance requirements such as obstacle clearance and landing distance more than a cursory check to access these local gems, and the news of which airport owners are open to visitors is often passed by word of mouth. Then it takes a phone call to get permission and conditions before heading out to check out the field in person.I didn't need a mountain flying course or tundra tires to enjoy an aeronautical nature retreat.Within minutes of departure, we had the field in sight. With Filucci’s coaching, I overflew the runway to check for people, wildlife, and any other obstructions. The field disappeared behind the trees on downwind, then came back into view before the base-to-final turn. On final approach, I watched an Amazon delivery driver cross the greenery ahead of me. The touchdown zone must be just beyond that access road.
I was coming in high, so I powered up and went around. The next time I made a normal approach and landing. On rollout, the lightweight RV–12 jostled on the grass like a little red wagon in the yard.
The field was cozy, personal. We were, in effect, landing in someone’s backyard. We wouldn’t shut down and enjoy the greenery on this day, but as I taxied back, I noted where the trees cast their shadow over picnic spots and paths led into the woods.
I was surprised at how simple and accessible this micro-adventure was. If those dogleg approaches to rugged Western strips are black diamond airfields, this was the bunny slope. I didn’t need a mountain flying course or tundra tires to enjoy an aeronautical nature retreat.
Spending time in nature restores the soul and serves as an antidote to the stressors of modern life. In cities, access to green spaces promotes physical activity, improves air quality, and contributes to overall mental and physical well-being. In flying, grass strips do the same. Aviation has its share of exotic ratings, far-flung adventures, and epic challenges, but sometimes we find adventure in our own backyard. FT
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