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From Whitefish Pilot Aug. 1998
A soft landing in Stillwater As another plane slowly glides to a halt on a silk-smooth Stillwater Lake during the 5th Annual Stillwater "Splash In," Creston resident and veteran pilot Tom Towle talks about why people are so fascinated with planes without wheels. "You can go anywhere and get away from it. if you're so inclined," Towle says as the new plane's engine winds down. "There are 20 times more landing strips and no airports. That's the appeal." Towle's own wings were clipped last February when his Cessna was totaled by a Florida twister. And as he walks along the lake shore examining the 16 planes that have arrived for the get- together, he can't hide his envy. It does look like fun, doesn't it," he says with a pained grin. "I sure wish one of these was mine." Bill Montgomery who owns the beachfront property and began organizing the event six years ago said that in every way this year has been the best yet. Well, this is more people than we've ever had before," says Montgomery, whose own plane is stuck in Seattle. "And the weather is perfect. It's great to see all these planes together." Around 75 people downed soda and pork fresh from the spit as they compared planes and talked about their favorite spots, scariest landing and take-off techniques. Planes from Oregon, Washington and Colorado flew in. And people from as far away as Germany and Columbia arrived by car just to check it out. "You can't do any thing like this in Europe," German Thomas Storz says. "You can't fly sea planes wherever. That's why we come out here." Storz, who came from Munich with his wife, Sonya, echoes a popular sentiment among float plane pilots when asked--why? "It's more exciting than (a land plane)," he says, while gesturing like he's behind the controls. "You can pick out a spot and land there. Nobody's around to tell you what to do and you're all alone." And like so many pilots that came to the "Splash In," Storz names British Columbia as his favorite spot. The land of endless lakes is the land of endless liquid runways. Bert Poloson, who turns 71 in September, got his license at the age of 50. He spurns any pronouncement that he had a late start. "I don't know," says the former logging and construction company rep, while furrowing his brow. "I used to fly a lot on business so it only made sense to just fly myself." Poloson's wife, Grace, has a license too, Poloson says, as he points out his Cessna 185. Like most everyone else who talked about the why of float planes, the couple does it to just get away from civilization. Poloson used to fly regularly to the Arctic, though he hasn't in a few years. "It's a different type of flying, especially when you go way up north," he says, recalling some of his past adventures. "You're on your own. There's no one to tell you what to do but there's no one around to help you." Poloson takes a furtive glance about, as if he's revealing a secret. "If you like to fly and you want to get away from people, well you've got to land on water," Plolson says. |