The Journey Or The Destination?A cross-country adventure to Central America
The 2011 Ilopango Air Show in El Salvador was a fantastic blend of journey and destination. The air show, started in the mid-1990s by local pilots and the Salvadorian Aero Club, is one of Central America's most popular aviation events. The Journey I knew I wanted to fly it, but first, I had to find it. Charts show Ilopango Airport sitting on a volcanic plateau on the eastern edge of San Salvador, El Salvador's capital, and the fastest-growing city in Central America. I'm based in Northern Florida, so I would have to fly my single-seat Extra 300S across the Southeast U.S. to Texas, then south across Mexico and Guatemala. Unfortunately, the Extra is tad short on endurance, so I had to forgo the popular and much shorter route (by 900 nm!) over the Gulf of Mexico, from Key West to Cozumel. Good friend and Plane & Pilot contributor James Wynbrandt agreed to fly to Ilopango with me. James had prior experience flying in Central America, speaks Spanish and flies a Mooney M20T, speedy enough for my Extra and roomy enough for all of our gear, including my large ribbon cut poles. A trip like this requires more than just having the right charts, so we started planning well in advance. I called Sarasota Avionics to make sure I had all the latest GPS upgrades. Baja Bush Pilots (now Bush Pilots International) and Jeppesen, which provided us with a trip kit, were helpful, but there were numerous forms and procedures to organize, including everyone's favorite new hassle, EAPIS.
Crossing state or national borders is a seamless and beautiful experience for aviators. Sometimes, a river is the defining boundary, sometimes the land slowly transforms into something more foreign. Mexico becomes remote as soon as you cross the border. We were on our own during the 210 nm leg to Tampico, where we stopped for fuel and customs. Our next fuel stop at Minatitlan was another 235 nm further.
"Mina" is on the Gulf Coast, just before the land takes a turn
northeast into the Bay of Campeche and the Yucatan Peninsula. This
was where we would turn west and cross to the Pacific side of Mexico.
South of Vera Cruz, we ran into darker skies and scattered rain
showers, forcing us to fly lower and slower. With the water off our
left, and Vera Cruz in our "rearview mirror" in case we had to turn
back, we got a close look at the shockingly greasy and brackish-brown
pollution washing up with every wave. The shore was devoid of birds
and any other life.
By Friday morning, the rain was pouring, and I was fighting depression. Was I going to miss the air show? The weather forecast for Mina that day was awful, and to make things even worse, a local told us we would have to wait three days to see improvement, and we should just give up! Years of VFR flying has taught me to never do that, and as the day progressed, the ceilings lifted, and the skies to the west brightened. We took off, and gratefully found the ceilings getting higher as we flew through the pass, rugged and spectacular, and into the sunshine. Daylight is spare in January, and the Extra is day VFR only. We were anxious to get to Ilopango, but with the incessant stamping of papers and a surprise interrogation by the Mexican Navy, it was amazing we were able to extricate ourselves from the ground in Tapachula in less than two hours. Our good humor returned as soon as we were back in the air, over the Pacific Coast with only 200 nm remaining to Ilopango. The inland mountains of Guatemala are impressive and forbidding seen from the west, across a large fertile coastal plain, but when you cross into El Salvador, you can see why the green and beautiful country was known by the Spanish as "The Place of the Diamond Jewels." Navigating around volcanoes to get into the bowl where Ilopango nestles, we found it easy to spot, sitting just west of a large freshwater volcanic lake.
The Destination It seemed surreal to finally arrive–just in time. The Ilopango tower approved me for an "arrival show," and I tore up the aerobatic box as much as I could with an airplane full of bags and charts. James and I then formed up for the overhead approach, and taxied in to the welcome greetings of the organizers, our friends and crew. There had already been two days of flying, photo and practice flights, and Matt Younkin had been lighting up the city's night sky in his Beech 18. The whole city seemed excited about the show, and it was time to celebrate! The air show was aerial entertainment at its finest. Starting with the traditional flag jump and ending with the Salvadorian Air Force's precision demo team, local pilots were well represented by Carlos Dardano, who flew a dynamic routine in his Decathlon. And others proved you didn't have to have an Extra or a Pitts to fly a show: There were Stearmans, Ag planes, and even a Piper Navajo performed rolls. Younkin, Greg Poe and I each flew four times a day, including a fun three-ship routine. The U.S. Military was well represented by Army helo pilots and crews from Soto Cano Air Base in Honduras. They were fantastic with the kids. Looking back at the air shows I've flown, it's always the small but astonishing things that I remember the most: flying upside-down over Russia's Volga River in a Yak 52 with Viktor Smolin; looking at a Geyser erupting while flying a show in Rekyavik, Iceland. With El Salvador, I'll never forget looking out at my wingtip at the top of a hammerhead and seeing a volcano. But what I'll remember most will be the people and their hospitality, generosity and warmth. Was this show about the journey or the destination? It was definitely both.
Patty Wagstaff is a six-time member of the U.S. Aerobatic team, and a three-time U.S. National Aerobatic champion. She flies for the California Department of Forestry during the summer months. Visit www.pattywagstaff.com.
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