After taking my BFR, I decided my next trip should be relaxing. I wanted the flight to be the focus, not the destination. What do I like in flying? I like flying with other people, competitions, and flying through the mountains. I couldn’t think of anyone to fly with on short notice. Competitions aren’t relaxing. So that left mountain flying, or what there is of it in New Hampshire.
I flew north past Mt Sunapee and Ragged Mountain. The ski runs still had snow to poach. I flew over Newfound lake, Mt Cardigan gray and white off to my left, then landed for lunch at Plymouth. There were folks at the main tie down area, so I found my own patch of grass to eat lunch. It was the perfect day for being lazy. Even the wind turbines paused between lackadaisical turns. If I were the type to imagine animals in the cumulus clouds, I’m sure I could have found many. Each cloud was a unique specimen parading across the blue sky.
After lunch, I flew north towards Wentworth, I wasn’t planning to land but I wanted to fly the valley in memory of past Wentworth fall fly ins. I could almost see the line of Cubs ahead of me working their way up the valley under an autumn overcast. I also heard my mountain canyon flying book telling me to keep right in case of oncoming traffic or if I needed to make a tight escape turn. I wonder when we will go back out to Idaho?
Unlike Idaho, the ridge was only a thousand feet above the valley floor, so after a few minutes I turned left and headed south over the ridge.
I stopped at Parlin to see what was at the far end of the grass runway. I had heard there was a park or camping or something. There was a park with a stream, a covered bridge, people sitting on picnic blankets at socially distant intervals, and folks walking their dogs on the runway. The park was a bit too busy for me, so I enjoyed it from a distance under the Bearhawk’s wing.
The afternoon was getting long, and dinner time coming. So I hopped back in the Bearhawk and flew home via a gas stop.