“The Many Faces of Sedona”

 

Gerry Niskern

 

 

“We’re going to circle around and come in from the south.” Our pilot’s voice crackled through my earphones. “OK, guys, get ready to land on the USS Sedona. That’s what we call our landing strip. It’s just slightly longer than an aircraft carrier.” The red Waco plane carrying us touched down smoothly.

Earlier that morning, my husband and I checked in at the Bi- plane hanger located at the Sedona airport.  We had been promising ourselves we would take a ride in one of the Waco open cockpit bi-planes for a long time.   Quite often, while lying by the pool at one of Sedona’s many resorts, we had noticed the bi-planes with their sturdy engines chugging away overhead carrying passengers touring the Red Rock country of Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. This year the high light of our annual October anniversary trip to Sedona was to be a flight in one of the Waco Bi-planes.

The crisp morning of our flight we wore lightweight jackets and jeans for the short hike over to the Bi-plane hanger. The average temperature in the area in October is 77. Sedona is indeed a site for all seasons. The leaves of Poplar and Birch trees that had melted into gold struck a colorful contrast beside red Japanese Maples and  the green pines that lined our way. After the light rain the night before, the fresh-washed air smelled of pungent mesquite.

We stood watching a middle aged man checking the red double- winged plane. Our apprehension vanished when we realized he was leaving no detail untouched. Beckoning us forward, he instructed Ken how to step on the wing here, grab the handhold there, step into the plane backwards, kneel on the seat and pivot around and sit down. I was next. Same instructions. Now I understood why the lady on the phone asked for our total combined weight. We were in for a very chummy fit.

After helping with our safety harness, helmets and earphones, he explained that their Wacos are equipped with PAL (European VHS) to record our entire flight. Each plane has a multi-camera system that will capture the scenery of the Red Rocks and also the passengers flying in the front cockpit.  When we were back home it was great fun to show our “virtual tour” to friends and family. That video of our flight is now one of our prized possessions.

Then the efficient man walked away …and the young blond kid in tan shorts and red sweat shirt who we had seen drinking coffee in the hanger, strolled out and climbed into the pilot’s seat behind us!

“Welcome aboard, guys. I’m Eric, your pilot. We’re about ready to go,” his voice came through the earphones.   “I’m double checking everything. Then we’ll be on our way.”

As we taxied out onto the runway we heard, “Whiskey Charlie, Whiskey Charlie, taxing from center to 03”…his voice crackled again, “Sedona, your transmissions are very weak, absolutely unreadable.”  We looked at each other. I’m sure we were both wondering how to cancel the flight! Too late…a second  later, “ OK, guys, we’re good for go…Sedona, Whisky Charlie’s rolling.”

Our plane gained speed and as it cleared the runway on top of the little mountain we were suddenly looking straight down at the houses of West Sedona. I found myself in a wonderful, new world. An indescribable sense of freedom filled my soul. I’ve flown on airliners for years, but THIS WAS FLYING.

“We’ll be chugging along at about 5,800 feet,” Eric, our pilot informed us. “If it’s too bumpy, we’ll alter a little. I’ll be pointing out some local landmarks.”

A warm kaleidoscope of color, without beginning or end, stretched before our eyes. We flew past spiraled formations, one after another, changing from white to gray to golden brown and then scarlet in the morning sun. We bobbed along on the air currents. We felt unstoppable. Jabbing each other in the arm, pointing this way and that, we forgot all about using our microphones as we marveled at every pinnacle sculpture carved by wind and rain.

The cerulean blue sky served as a canvas for our changing landscape. The solid red Waco rode the bucking wind and tamed gust after gust. We dipped into hidden valleys, ventured up beside shrill orange cliffs where steep canyons walls slashed wide paths into their sides.

I had to remind myself to breathe. We weren’t breaking the sound barrier; we were breaking the beauty barrier. We skimmed by fractured remnants of endless strata. The sun danced around the formations as their colors changed with each movement of our Waco. Their horizontal patterns on the giant monoliths shifted constantly on the curved and swirled, timeless sculptures. Cascades of rock fragments had bounced and tumbled to their base.

Our pilot pointed out Lee’s mountain, Broken Arrow, Munds Mountain, Mount Wilson and Bell Rock, the formation that attracts thousands who come to get “the feeling” each year. Many people believe that the region contains a concentration of vortexes, which are spots that release psychic energy or power from the Earth.

As we headed up the Canyon we caught glimpes of Oak Creek sparkling below between giant old Oaks and Ponderosa pine.  The creek stretches for sixteen-mile north from Flagstaff and South to the Verde River. It is both beautiful and challenging. From pristine pools to rugged terrain, it is breathtaking.

My mind flashed back to my childhood when my Dad would load the family up to spend the night in a little cabin on the creek in order to be one of the first fishermen trying our luck for the opening of trout season. The creek carries both rainbow and brown trout. The Rainbows are stocked, but browns are wild. The creek is spring fed and the temperature is consistently cool.

The many colored walls of the canyon were decorated with trees turning red, orange and gold against the green pine. We spotted ancient caves, used by Indian tribes for thousands of years, carved out of the sheer sides of the canyon.

 

After our plane headed back south, Eric indicated the location of Cathedral rock. Right below was our favorite camping spot, Red Rock Crossing. We went there for years with our children; sometimes we were the only visitors at the crossing. We camped under ancient Oak trees on the sandy stream bank. The kids rode the little rapids and we cooked on an open fire.  Memories of romantic moonlight swims, with toddlers safely sleeping in our tent, flooded my mind.

Too soon, it was time for us to head back. The Waco wound it’s way up north again and then down over Schnelbly Hill road. Its seventeen-mile path was a garland against the mountain where stands of green pines tucked into violet canyons were decorated with red oak and sumac.

“The wind’s pushing us around a little, but we are going to give it a shot here folks,” our pilot called. Then…”Whisky Charlie, 403 for landing, Sedona We’re coming in.”

The side of the mountain was straight ahead. As we speeded toward it, I’ll have to admit I thought, “Oh, no, we’re going straight into the side of Table Mountain.”  Suddenly, there was the landing strip, looking like a postage stamp. We watched, fascinated, as it grew closer and larger. Our skillful pilot guided our little plane as it eased to a perfect landing onto the USS Sedona runway.

 

            AUTHORS NOTE: I wrote this article for The Phoenix Downtown Magazine a few years ago.  Little did I realize that our yearly trips to Sedona to celebrate our wedding anniversary would be over way too soon. I dearly miss our  trips to Sedona and my loving partner in these adventures. Our 66^th anniversary would be this Friday, October 27.