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Show group I was with started on the Green River at Mineral Bottom. After a couple of days on the river we met the other group at the confluence and camped just down stream at Spanish Bottom. While camped there, we experienced one of Dick Smith's We had made camp and were preparing supper when a plane flew right past us and followed the canyon down stream until it made a sharp bend to the right. I was standing with Dr. Matheny at the time, and we recognized Dick as he flew past us. The plane looked as if it were going to run into the wall Dr. Matheny said, "Okay, now he'll turn hard right and slip stall and make the turn and come back past us." That is just what happened. Dick flew past us and waved on his way up river. He was just checking up on us. After Dick's fly-b- y a number of the gentlemen on the trip said they wouldn't fly with "that crazy fooL" Little did they realize that when we finished the river trip, Dick would be flying one of the planes that would take us back to Moab. After finishing the trip at Hite, we were taken to Bullfrog Marina where we were supposed to catch our flight to Moab. The wind was blowing very hard and we were told that planes couldn't land at Bullfrog and we would have to go to Hanksville. The planes would be waiting for us there. When we arrived at the Hanksville airport the planes had just landed, but the wind was still howling. We were told that we would have to wait until the wind died down for the planes to take off. Dr. Matheny and I put our gear on Dick's y in plane. None of the other people wanted to ride with us after witnessing the because with us That was we figured that we were flying with the Cataract Canyon. okay best They could fly with the rest Dick began to turn his plane around so that it faced into the wind. One of the other pilots came over and told us that we couldn't take off in such high winds. Dick told him that if he could land in this wind, then he could certainly take off in it We started the take-of- f I engine and after everything had been checked we took oft. It was the shortest have ever experienced, before or since. After we were airborne we asked Dick when the other planes would take oft. He grinned and told us that the others would follow him. Sure enough, as we looked back, the other planes were following Dick's lead. As we approached the Moab airport. Dr. Matheny commented that he was going to get a lesson on cross-win- d landings. Because the runway runs northsouth and wind was the it from west, would make a normal landing quite difficult Dr. Matheny and blowing I were both anxious to see what was going to happen. Dick informed us that he wouldn't do a cross-win- d landing; he was going to land on the taxi strip between the terminal the and runway. The airport terminal was located on the east side of the runway building with a short taxi strip connecting the two. I thought to myself that this was going to be another one of those landings with a high pucker factor. We circled around and approached from the east We came in just over the terminal building, dropped down, landed on the taxi strip and came to a stop just on the west edge of the runway. Dick turned the plane around and taxied over to the hanger area. As he shut down the plane, each of the other planes in our group, in turn, made the same landing at that Dick had made. This was just a matter-of-falanding, fist as the take-of- f Hanksville had been. Flying with Dick was always an adventure, but for some reason it always seemed like a comfortable adventure. I remember telling Dick about a message that had been dropped to us while we were on a trip down Cataract Canyon. The pilot wouldn't fly in the canyon and when he dropped the message it fell so far from us that we couldn't find it The pilot had to finally drop a second message. We were able, with some difficulty, to find the second one. Upon hearing the story, Dick simply smiled and said, "When I drop you a message, all you have to do is stoop over and pick it up." Somehow I believed him. "fly-by'- s. fly-b- ct The last time I flew with Dick was in the summer of 1972. I was doing an from archaeological survey for my Master's thesis in North Cottonwood Canyon just out me. with and old two the Du gout Ranch. I had my wife, our my parents daughter year Dick's to down to drive I figured that while we were in the area it would be a good time for a us take him have and of flight over a portion border the east near Canyanlands lodge us that Dick was flying informed Dick's of the Park. When we arrived at the lodge, partner back in a short while. as a spotter for the Forest Service on a fire and that he would be afternoon. He gave me By the time Dick arrived at the lodge landing strip it was late take us for a flight. After to consented and his usual "Hey, what's happening" greeting and trimmed checking his plane we climbed aboard and took off. After Dick got in the air the plane he began to talk to us about the country we were flying over and the country we were about to see. By the way he talked about the Canyonlands country, you could sense Dick's fopHnga of love, reverence, respect and maybe even a sense of ownership, or at least stewardship, for the country that we were flying over. We passed over the Needles, the Confluence, and the Maze. Such wonderful country, and to be able to see it from the air with no traffic or people distractions was a wonderful had such a feeling for the land experience. And to share the experience with someone who said he wanted to show just added to the trip. As we prepared to return to the lodge, Dick me some Indian ruins that no one had been in. As an archaeologist, I was excited to see I asked Dick how he knew no one had a ruin that hadn't been vandalized by were sealed with flat sandstone slabs. been in the ruin, and he replied that the door-way-s 2 We dropped down into the canyon and flew past the ruins. It was beautiful, a nice still room ruin tucked under an overhang, and sure enough, most of the doorways were there because sealed with stone slabs. Dick said that people hadn't been into the canyon wasn't a good way into it He told me that he thought he knew of a route into the ruins. We halfway planned to go into the canyon sometime, perhaps in a year or so. How was I to know that within a year's time Dick would be gone and the memory of the location of the ruins would be gone as well? I hope they are still there and intact. It would be nice to know that somewhere a ruin hasn't been plundered and all of the information that could have been learned from such are using a place destroyed. Sadly though, I know that the professional case with the is that not I helicopters nowadays to reach previously inaccessible ruins. hope Dick's ruin. pjot-hunte- well with most folks. It has been twenty-fou- r years since Dick died. He was killed in a plane crash on May He and three Service employees were flying in Canyonlands looking for Park 1973, 19, desert bighorn sheep. I have asked different people about the cause of the crash. They all have different ideas or opinions. Some suggest that it was pilot error. They say that Dick finally got himself into a situation that he couldn't get himself out of. I don't know what happened. Maybe it doesn't matter. A good friend is gone. I will always remember his friendly generosity and his contagious smile. The last time I saw Dick was in the spring of 1973 just a short time before he was killed. He had called to tell me about his new plane. He had gone back to the Cessna factory and ordered a special plane to fly the canyon country. The plane had a supercharged engine and was equipped with a STOL (short take oft and landing) kit. He told me that he had to fly a friend to Escalante and wondered if I could meet him at the Escalante airport. I jumped at the chance and was also anxious to see his new plane. It was after dark when he landed at the airport but we spent some good time together as he proudly showed off the new plane. It was beautiful Little did I know that I would not see him again. I was working outside that day in May when my wife came over to see me. She said that she had some bad news. Your stomach always tightens when someone tells you that When she told me that my friend Dick Smith had been killed in a plane crash in Canyonlands, something left me. I hoped that maybe he had just gone down and was missing and that they would find Dick and he and his passengers would all be okay. But my wife said no, that the plane had been found and that all on board had been killed. I remember it was a stormy day and it was raining lightly and a stiff breeze was blowing. I looked to the east, toward those Canyonlands that Dick so loved and I felt a void. I am not a poet, but I've tried to put my feelings about Dick on paper. I share it with you now... THE PASSING OF A FRIEND Dick Smith was friend of mine A good friend. He was a big bear of a man. But gentle , friendly , and full of life. We flew over Canyonlands Loddng for Indian ruins. Flew right past them. Pristine ruins. The doorways were still sealed. We flew that dose. Dick called these flights knuckle vdhileners. They were. He gave me other unforgettable experiences Used to tell me about his country In an almost reverent way. He spoke of the love, respect, and stewardship He had with the canyon country of Southern Utah. The places he loved and felt so akin to. He spake almost as a guardian. One who wanted to protect and preserve To watch over. I was outside one day in 1973 when my wife came to me. Told me that my friend Dick Smith was gone. His plane had cradled in his beloved Canyonlands. I never told him how much I appreciated him. I wish I had. His passing left a void in my life As the passing of a good friend does. 1 stood there and looked out over the canyon country of southern Utah on that cold, rainy day and 1 cried. rs. 10-1- pot-hunte- rs will always Dick is gone now. I feel that I am a better person for having known him. I his sincere remember his "Hey what's happening greeting, the twinkle in his eyes, and like he felt I was good to see me, friendship. When I shook his hand and he said that it must have meant it He was a good person, generous to the bona He was a big man. He that beard a him. He had bushy I weighed close to three hundred pounds when knew had a heart that couldn't hide the mischievous grin that he flashed from time to time. He he got along care didn't for, there were a few people that he matched his size. Although Larry Davis is a state park ranger at Anasazi Village State Park in Boulder. Utah and a sensitive and passionate (if not lonely) voice for wildlands in Garfield County. |
