Finishing a flight to nowhere … four decades later

By Steve Schapiro

There aren’t many aviation records left to accomplish. But on a picture-perfect Saturday in March, a new one may have been set.

This is the story of a flight that began on Dec. 17, 1983, and was completed 13,594 days later on March 6, 2021. Surely this must be a record.

The beginning of the flight was documented in a letter to Orville and Wilbur Wright written by my Dad, Jack Elliott, that was published as his Wings Over Jersey column on Dec. 25, 1983. It’s only fitting that the completion of the flight be addressed to the Wright brothers as well.

Dear Orville and Wilbur:

I finally made it. My journey only took 37 years, 3 months, and 89 days (including Leap Years) to get to Kill Devil Hills and First Flight Airport. If you remember, my Dad wrote to you on Christmas Day 1983 about the start of our trip.

He began by saying, “Nobody said it would be easy.” He could have added, “And nobody said it would be quick.”

In case you’ve forgotten — after all, it was a long time ago — here are the highlights to refresh your memory. 

It was a surprisingly nice Saturday for December. Our family climbed into our Piper Cherokee Arrow — my Dad at the controls in the left seat, my Mom next to him, and my sister and I in the back. We departed Somerset Airport (KSMQ) in New Jersey for a flight of a little more than two hours. There was a celebration of the 80^th anniversary of your first flight on those same sand dunes in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. We were going to fly in so my Dad could write about the event. 

We never made it. As far as I can remember, my Dad never did get to Kitty Hawk before passing in 2018.

A combination of a longer than expected fuel stop at Elizabeth City Airport, and event organizers closing the airport earlier than they said they would, proved to be a bad combination. We were told we could not land. My Dad was none-to-pleased and I was devastated as we turned north and flew back home. 

Although what my Dad called “A Flight to Nowhere” was in 1983, the journey began about 50 years earlier on a grass strip that long ago was lost to history.

Back in 1932 or 1933, when my Dad and uncle were both less than 10 years old, my uncle convinced a barnstormer to do a two-for-one deal to take them both for a ride, along with my grandfather. Up the three of them went in an open-cockpit New Standard biplane.  

That flight planted the seed in my Dad’s heart that would become his life’s work. He earned his private pilot’s certificate in 1954 and nine years later started writing Wings Over Jersey, a column about aviation that ran every Sunday in the Newark Star-Ledger in New Jersey from 1963 to 2001.

When the column began, my Dad owned a 1947 Stinson 108-2. In 1968, he sold that airplane to buy a brand new Piper Cherokee Arrow, which he picked up from the factory in Vero Beach, Florida. That airplane has been in our family ever since.

I grew up flying with my dad on Saturdays in N4858J, Juliet, as he went on interviews for his column. When he decided to stop flying in 2006, he passed the Arrow on to me. It’s been in my care ever since.

The idea to complete the flight to Kitty Hawk came from a Facebook post. I’m a member of a group, Smokehouse Pilot’s Club, which has members all over the world who frequently post interesting aviation content. The club is based in Leesburg, Virginia, and hosted monthly fly-outs before the pandemic.

Club founder Gabe Muller suggested a fly-out to First Flight Airport (KFFA) for March 6 — the club’s first in-person event since the COVID pandemic began. I knew if the weather was good, I needed to go to complete what started when I was a kid.

Like my Dad four decades before, I checked the weather all week hoping it would be good. When doing my flight planning, I chose Currituck County Regional Airport (KONX) for my fuel stop. It had the cheapest avgas in the area and it is self-serve, so I wouldn’t have the same problem we had in 1983 with a slow line boy. From there it is a short 15-minute flight to First Flight.

Saturday, March 6, was a rare day for March. Clear. Excellent visibility. And a nice tail wind on the way down. Predicted high temperatures for the Kill Devil Hills area was mid to upper 40s.

I climbed into Juliet, just as I did in 1983, but this time I was in the left seat and flying solo. I lifted off from Alexandria Field (N85), which is about 15 miles west of Somerset Airport, where we departed 37 years ago. I don’t remember the route of flight that day. I was sitting in the back left seat and probably slept most of the flight. GPS didn’t exist for general aviation back then so we flew Victor Airway 1. 

For my flight I flew direct. I climbed to 7,500 feet to get above a layer of clouds, which dissipated over Philadelphia and from there it was nothing but clear skies. As I neared the Delaware Bay, on the radio I heard a Mooney that departed Northeast Philly (KPNE) that was heading for First Flight and I could only assume he was part of the fly out too.

Two hours and four minutes after lifting off, I touched down at Currituck. One step closer to completing this flight. I taxied to the pumps, filled up and headed on my way. The winds were out of the east, so taking off on Runway 5 put me over the bay. I turned south and crossed over to the Outer Banks to follow the beach.

There were two more aircraft flying toward First Flight and I was getting a little concerned about parking. The ramp has 11 marked tie-downs and about 20 planes were expected. I kept an eye out for the monument, which I imagined was a large tower near the modern runway. (It looks large on the ground, but not from the air.)

I never saw the monument, but as I was almost past the airport, I saw the end of the runway just off my left wing. A Cessna 182 was on final, so I turned away toward the bay to make sure I gave the incoming aircraft plenty of room. I put my gear down and extended my downwind to provide proper spacing.

The ramp at First Flight is at the departure end of Runway 3, which was in use, and there is no taxiway. Once you land you have to back taxi on the runway to get to parking. I wanted to be sure to give myself enough space to allow the Cessna room to land and back taxi to the ramp.

I turned a long final and the 182 was soon clear. I touched down, did a 180 on the runway, and taxied in. I parked in the back right corner next to the 182 that landed ahead of me. The Mooney from Philly was parked in the next row and there was a Luscombe in the row in front of that, which I recognized from Facebook posts.

A few minutes later a Grumman Tiger landed, and right behind it was club founder Gabe Muller and his girlfriend Adrienne in their Cirrus.

The ramp was quickly filling up as a twin-engine Cessna 425 turboprop landed and parked on the grass, followed by a Stinson 108-3 — both were flown by pilots with the Fly Wyld Flying Club, based out of Manassas Regional Airport (KHEF) in Virginia. Not long after, a diesel-powered Diamond DA40 NG landed and then a Piper Jetprop, along with a few Cherokees and Cessnas mixed in.

Orville and Wilbur, I wonder what you would think of the variety of aircraft types that flew in today. Could you imagine how what you did here in 1903 would change the world?

Pilots and families gathered and talked on the ramp, sharing stories about their aviation experience and aircraft. That’s one of the best things about aviation — the community. Many of those who flew in were meeting for the first time, even though we’ve seen each other on Facebook or Zoom seminars. Everyone gathered for a group photo and then people made their way to the top of Kill Devil Hill.  

That is where the large monument sits to commemorate your work here. From the top of the hill you can see the beach to the east, and to the north you can see the field where you flew.

The view is a bit deceptive — there is a sidewalk that takes you to the point where you made history and the hangar and cabin where you lived. I mistook the sidewalk for the path of your flight. It wasn’t until I walked down did I realize the single rail that the Flyer traveled to get airborne was a bit of a distance away.  

Walking down the flight line from the takeoff rail and marker to each landing point shows just how short the 120 feet traveled on the first flight was…and how much farther Wilbur flew — 852 feet — on the fourth flight that day.

There is a small museum with a replica of the flyer and displays about dreaming to do the impossible and persevering by learning from failure. This Hill and Field are sacred ground. It is a place that every pilot or aviation enthusiast should visit. 

Before departing, William Cox was kind enough to take me up in his Stinson to get some photos of the monument from the air. This was my first flight in a Stinson 108, which made me think of my Dad and the Stinson he owned before getting the Arrow.

It’s fitting that my first flight in a Stinson 108 would be at First Flight Airport on the day I completed a journey started with my Dad so many years ago.

After flying with Will, I went to the flight operations building to file a flight plan and get a weather briefing. I did my preflight, climbed into Juliet, and took off on Runway 3, following a similar path of the first flight. I climbed to 4,500 feet, called ATC, and was on my way. I made a quick stop in Gaithersburg, Maryland, to drop some things off for my Mom and headed back to New Jersey, completing what may have been the longest flight on record (sort of).

Back in 1983 my Dad chose to look on the bright side: “We had a pleasant 5-½ hour round trip flight. I burned about $90 worth of fuel, which is probably good for the economy — of the OPEC nations. And I learned a lesson. If you call Washington to get the word straight from the horse’s mouth, you might do better next time to call the stable boy.”

And 37 years later, it was easy for me to look on the bright side as well. I had a pleasant six-hour round trip flight (because of the added stop in Maryland). I burned about $200 worth of fuel, which I’m sure is good for the economy.

And I learned a lesson. Perseverance pays off. It may have taken a long time to complete my pilgrimage to Kitty Hawk, but it was worth it. And I look forward to going back — hopefully sooner than 37 years.

A Flight to Nowhere By Jack Elliott

Here is my Dad’s original column, published on Dec. 25, 1983:

Dear Orville and Wilbur:

Nobody said it was going to be easy. 

A week ago yesterday, they paid tribute to you on the 80^th anniversary of your historic achievement at Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.

There is a 3,000-foot paved strip now on the sands where your first flight took place. Appropriately enough, they have named the strip First Flight. That is where the celebration was held. Unfortunately, you couldn’t be there. Neither could I, but for a different reason.

I was looking forward to it with great enthusiasm. It was to be a family trip, the first one in a long while. The kids were filled with anticipation. For some reason or other they seem to have an enormous interest in flying.

All week long we all watched the weather reports, hoping that Saturday would be a good VFR day. 

On Friday, the outlook was excellent. I called the sponsor of the event (who shall remain nameless) to double check on arrangements. 

The field would be closed from noon to 2 p.m., he told me, for a demonstration by a replica of the Wright Flyer. He confirmed that there was no fuel available on the field.

Saturday, Dec. 17th, was a rare day in December. Clear. Excellent visibility. Very little wind. Predicted high temperatures for the Kill Devil Hills area was 52°.

I took off, headed south and picked up Airway Victor 1, over the Delaware Bay, past the tail of New Jersey, which as you gazed down on it, looked exactly as it does on the map.

Further south we passed over the Chesapeake Bay and Tangier Island that I visited and wrote about years ago.

Norfolk Approach picked us up on radar and we flew right over Norfolk International Airport. Another 38 miles and we put down at Elizabeth City Airport, some 15 minutes from Kill Devil Hills, to refuel, so later when we took off from First Flight we could fly straight home.

The elderly gentleman at Elizabeth City said we’d have to wait because he had another aircraft to refuel first. After some time, when nothing happened, I began to wonder if he planned to refuel it that day. The clock was ticking. I was getting edgy. But it was obvious there was no way to get the old gentleman to move.

I stopped in at the Flight Service Station on the field to close my flight plan and mentioned that I was headed for First Flight.

“It closes at 11:30,” they tell me. It was now almost 11 o’clock.

“No,” I reply. “I called yesterday and they said it would close from noon to 2 p.m.”

The FAA people gave us two phone numbers (which they got from information). One is a pay phone, the other a ranger station on the field.

At the second number they say the first flight is going to be reenacted at 11:45 a.m. and the field will be open again at 12:30.

Eventually, the venerable line boy filled our tanks.

We took off and after a number of tries, I was able to reach someone on the field who responded on a handheld radio. It was not quite 11:30, but the field was closed.

“Well,” the voice on the radio said, “it will open again in about an hour.”

That left us with three choices: Circle for an hour and burn gas until we found out if they were actually going to reopen at 12:30, go back to Elizabeth City, or head back home. 

If I decide to kill an hour, would their story then change again?

I told the voice on the radio I had come to do a story on the event, but if I couldn’t find out exactly when we could get in, I was going to turn around and go back home. The reply was “Goodbye.”

I suppose it wasn’t a total loss. We had a pleasant 5-½ hour round trip flight. I burned about $90 worth of fuel, which is probably good for the economy — of the OPEC nations. 

And I learned a lesson. If you call Washington to get the word straight from the horse’s mouth, you might do better next time to call the stable boy.