There’s something about a little yellow tailwheel airplane that has always ignited my soul.
After all, a Cub sitting on a hangar pad was what initially drew me to walk into the Ron Alexander Youth Aviation Program, an experience that changed the course of my life at just barely 16 years old.
As I’ve progressed through this decade-long aviation journey, Cubs still catch my eye, but there’s one of a different variety that I’ve been dying to get my hands on. And this Cub is a little different than all the rest.
Tres Clinton, a native Texan with a rather pronounced drawl to prove it, owns and operates C3 Air at the Burnet Municipal Airport (KBMQ) about an hour northwest of Austin. I first met Clinton at the final Reno Air Races in 2023 and have been keeping up with him and his operation via social media since. So, when I decided it was time to head west and spend some time in Texas, he was definitely on my list of people to meet up with.
After an hour and a half drive through the gorgeous Texas Hill Country, I arrived at C3 Air, located just outside the gates of the airport. Before I was even able to put my car in park, Clinton was there to greet me and my two dogs and welcomed us into his office. After catching up, as well as meeting our photographer and photo pilot, Clinton and I got down to business. It was time for ground school.
The aircraft in question? A meticulously restored and maintained 2014 Top Cub on Wipline 2100 amphibious floats.
“It’s a horrible boat, and an awful airplane, but it’s a whole lot of fun,” said Clinton. “I think this airplane is top caliber for floatplanes in this category. It can hold the extra gross weight. It’s 2,300 pounds, but when you add floats, it will get [bogged] down, so you need an airplane that can [carry] the weight. Power-to-weight ratio is also impressive for a floatplane. It doesn’t climb as well as a Top Cub on wheels, but no floatplane does.”
Although Clinton’s three-day seaplane course is priced slightly higher than some of his competitors ($4,900), the difference is the opportunity to learn on amphibious floats rather than straight floats.
“Straight floats can be a lot of fun,” he said. “They’re lightweight and straightforward, but they don’t offer the same level of training quality if your goal is to eventually fly something with amphibious floats. We chose to base our airplane at the airport, so with the amphibious floats, we have wheels that can land on a runway, and then we can retract them and land on the water.”
Although I never thought I’d have a gear-up landing, that is exactly what must be done in an amphibious floatplane. Simply put, if a pilot lands with wheels down on water, the aircraft will flip over, leaving its occupants strapped in, upside down, and under water.
“We’ve been completely brainwashed to say gear down to land, and that’s what you should do, except with amphibs,” said Clinton. “It’s easy to talk about when we’re sitting down at the table, but it’s easy to get lost in the sauce and to make mistakes. People do make mistakes, and when they do, it’s a terrible mistake. We can’t get complacent. [Floatplane] is an easy certificate to add, but it can be extremely unforgiving.”
To avoid complacency, and a potentially life-threatening situation, a gear check is made three times prior to landing on any surface. It starts with visually checking the gear position indicator on the right float, up to the traditional gear indicator on the panel, and finally visually checking the left float’s gear position indicator.
“It’s honestly annoying, but it needs to be that way,” said Clinton. “I want you to be paranoid about it.”
Clinton also introduced me to other new concepts such as water taxiing, water looping (the equivalent of a ground loop), and the crucial role of wind as it relates to water operations.
“We never want to land downwind,” said Clinton. “Wind is a big determining factor for success on the water, it is the main thing we are looking at before touchdown or takeoff. For instance, if it’s white capping, it is not a good idea to land. By default, seaplanes take a beating. There is no suspension on these floats, so we need to be delicate with them.”
Clinton also pointed out how the corrosive nature of water must be taken into account.
“It will eat away at the prop, so we are either full power on the water, or no power and just floating,” he said. “You won’t have the option to use brakes or stop moving. You’ll always be moving forward even if the engine is off, so it is important to plan for that and not get yourself into a bad spot.”
Although I couldn’t exactly relate to these wise words at the moment, I would soon be able to figure out just what he was referring to.
As someone who doesn’t have much experience on the water in any capacity, docking the floatplane was, by far, the most feared part of my soon-to-be seaplane experience. And Clinton confirmed just that.
“A good landing doesn’t make a good seaplane pilot,” he said. “A good docking is what makes a good seaplane pilot. It’s a whole coordinated effort. Before docking we have to shut down, remove our seat belts and headsets, get everything out of the way, and then someone has to jump out of the cockpit, onto the float, jump to the dock, grab the rope, tie the airplane down, and, oh, yeah, not fall in.”
How hard could it be, I thought?
After about two and a half hours of ground school, it was finally time to head to the airplane. Although I have around 300 hours in J-3, Top, Super, and Carbon Cubs, I had yet to fly a Cub on tall, Wipine floats. Sitting at just over 10 feet, 6 inches tall, the Top Cub absolutely dwarfed the Cessna 182 photo ship parked next to it.
Like any Cub preflight, the normal fuel, oil, light, and surface checks were performed. But here’s where things got interesting. The Wipline floats have several large compartments that can easily be filled with water if a leak presents itself. But even if there isn’t a leak, the compartments can still pick up a small amount of water. Using a plastic float pump-out device, Clinton instructed me to remove the small pump-out plugs located on top of the float compartments and begin pumping any remaining water out of the compartments. Surprisingly, it took a few pumps before I was able to remove all of it.
The next amphibious-specific preflight item was a lesson on the emergency gear handle located on the floorboard near the pilot’s right knee.
“If the gear doesn’t come down, it’s not the end of the world,” said Clinton. “The floats have a thick, protective coating on the bottom in case someone forgets to extend the gear on pavement, but obviously if we have a gear issue, we are going to try to get the gear down. Just know you’re going to have to pump that handle like a million times.”
The next item on the list was a thorough walkaround to ensure the floats, water rudders, and cables were all in operational order. At the conclusion of our preflight, Clinton showed me the location of seat belt cutters, emergency GPS locator, and how to operate my mandatory life jacket if in the unfortunate situation we landed with the gear down and flipped over in the water.
“If you’re disoriented and don’t know which way is up, blow some bubbles,” Clinton said. “Bubbles always work their way to the surface. But make sure to swim away from the airplane, and once you’re away from it, you can pull this tab and the life jacket will inflate and carry you to the surface as well.”
Slightly second-guessing my life choices, I climbed up on the floats and slid my way into the pilot’s seat. Immediately confused by a sight picture that more closely resembled that of a nosewheel turboprop rather than a Cub, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“This ain’t right,” I said to Clinton as I peered down on him from the cockpit.
After Clinton climbed in, I pushed the mixture rich, flipped the master switch and magnetos to the on position, cracked the throttle, exclaimed “clear prop,” and engaged the starter. In typical Cub fashion, the aircraft purred to life in a familiar and comforting way.
“Ah, a Cub after all,” I thought.
As I advanced the throttle to perform a brake check, I very quickly realized how different taxiing this airplane would be. Rather than using a combination of power and rudder to steer the aircraft on the ground, I was more so relying on power and heel brakes to get to where I was going.
In the run-up area, I ran through the simple checklist that Clinton conveniently taped to the panel, as opposed to using the standard left-to-right Cub flow I was used to. After all, this Cub had a gear system and water rudders, and I didn’t want to miss a thing. With a final visual check to ensure the gear was indeed down, and our water rudders were up, (along with a successful run-up) I announced our departure from the Burnet airport and entered Runway 19.
As I turned onto the runway and lined up on centerline, that was truly the moment the sight picture caught my attention. Feeling like an awkward giant, I slowly applied full power and made sure everything was in the green. The sluggish nature was apparent, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting.
After instinctively applying forward stick pressure to get the tail off the ground, I suddenly remembered the tail was already suspended well into the air. Around 50 mph, I applied a touch of back pressure and rotated. Once airborne, I retracted the flaps, lowered the nose, and reached to the right side of the panel to pull the gear up. There was something so foreign, yet so fun, about pulling the gear up on a Cub.
“We are officially a seaplane,” I said to Clinton.
As we departed the pattern, I began looking for the 182 photo ship to join up on. We were heading to the lake for a sunset photo shoot, and this would be my first time at the controls of a water landing. To say I was excited would be an understatement.
On our way, Clinton told me it was time for our first of three gear checks. Taking Clinton’s lead, I looked down to the right and visually examined the right float indicator. “Right side, gear is up,” we said in unison.
Refocusing our attention on the panel, we visually inspected three blue lights and the gear handle in the up position. “Gear is up,” we again said in unison. Now, it was time to check the left float. Again, “gear is up,” we said. Boy, I could see how this could get annoying, but I’d rather have an annoying check to make, as opposed to being upside down in the water.
As I flew alongside the 182 on our way to the lake, I started to take note of the slight differences between this Cub and the others I have flown. Although heavier, and a bit more sluggish, the most surprising variance was a far more than usual uncoordinated feeling in my seat. I found it significantly more difficult to keep the ball centered as opposed to a Cub on wheels, and Clinton confirmed that it wasn’t just me.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of different little nuances, and the lack of coordination is definitely one of them,” he said.
As we approached the lake, we began our sunset photo shoot, working for the money shot that would soon grace the cover of Plane & Pilot. Although the Cub was slightly more difficult to keep entirely coordinated while formation flying, the floats didn’t make that much of a difference, as long as I didn’t allow myself to get into a position where I suddenly needed to catch up. The floats’ drag factor definitely stood out in those few moments.
After 45 minutes or so of chasing the 182, it was finally time for my first water landing. With only a few minutes to spare before the sun dipped below the horizon, Clinton instructed me to determine which way we would land based on the direction of the ripples on the water.
“Looks like we need to land to the south east,” I said. “Yup, so let’s set up a pattern, and land past the buoy,” replied Clinton.
In that moment, I realized how freeing and imaginative this kind of flying truly was. It is so far removed from the regimented confines of a traditional paved airport, and the students flying 747 patterns that usually accompany them. In a seaplane, you can land where you want, when you want, and how you want (as long as it’s upwind and on a lake that is approved for seaplane operations). Additionally, I felt such a feeling of security knowing that if at any point in time a mechanical failure arose, I could put myself in a position to land almost instantly. It didn’t matter how low I flew my pattern.
As I turned downwind over the water, Clinton pointed out the buoy that he wanted me to touch down beyond.
“All right, what do we need to be thinking about?” asked Clinton.
Admittedly caught up in the beauty of it all, I froze.
“Umm…oh, wait, gear check,” I exclaimed. “All right, let’s do it,” Clinton replied.
From right to left, we examined the right float, panel, and left float indicators, which were all in the up position. It was then I realized how quickly this incredibly important item could be missed, especially if you’re distracted by anything at all.
For all of you numbers geeks, I truly can’t tell you what altitude I was at, what speeds I was flying, or what the temperature of my CHTs were as I turned base to final. But that is also a part of Clinton’s seaplane course that I enjoyed so much.
“We fly by feel,” said Clinton. “Not by the numbers.”
As someone who grew up flying old taildraggers on the grass, I so appreciated this old school technique.
On short final, I performed our third and final gear check. Thankfully, no imaginary goblin came out of thin air and lowered our gear.
As I added a second notch of flaps, I picked an imaginary touchdown point (beyond the buoy) to make it a game of sorts. It shouldn’t matter if I was on pavement, grass, or water. At this point, with 700 hours of flight time, I should be able to hit a target within a reasonable distance.
With 15 mph winds directly on our nose, I had to keep the power in as I worked down to the flare. Although the sight picture on the pavement was far from what I was used to, the sight picture while just above the water was exactly the picture that any Cub pilot could relate to.
Feeling surprisingly normal, I pulled the power to idle, added a touch of back pressure, and flared. Not knowing what to expect, I touched down on the water with more of a jarring feeling than I was expecting. Within a few skips across the waves, we ran out of energy and began floating. What would have been an acceptable three-point on the grass or pavement, felt harsh on the water.
“Woah!” I exclaimed. With a celebratory pat of my shoulders, Clinton said, “Nice work, your first water landing! But see, there’s no suspension, and it’s still decently windy.”
OK, not so bad, I thought. Although the touchdown itself was not that smooth kiss of a three-point I was used to, the aftermath was serene and peaceful. I looked to my right and witnessed the sun setting, felt the cool breeze on my face, and smelled the fresh, Texas Hill Country air in a setting I had never before experienced.
After a few moments of soaking it in, Clinton asked if I was ready to give it another shot.
“I was born ready,” I replied. “OK, let’s run through the checklist, then full power, aft stick, and let’s go,” said Clinton.
After doing just that, and adding a notch of flaps, I allowed the airplane to rise up to the first step and subsequently the second. After releasing the back pressure, the Top Cub became airborne in a matter of seconds, and we leapt into the wild blue yonder.
Since the sun was setting, we decided to make the quick hop back to the Burnet airport and call it a night. With another windy forecast in the Hill Country expected the following day, we planned a 7:30 a.m. departure to get ahead of it as best we could.
The next morning, Clinton and I met at the hangar, performed a preflight, and headed out. We flew toward Inks Lake on the banks of Camp Longhorn, Clinton’s family camp with a long, storied tradition deeply rooted in Hill Country history.
Today’s mission was to learn the art of docking. After identifying the dock, I set up for a left downwind, performed three gear checks, and touched down abeam the landing point situated at Camp Longhorn. Since the wind was far more tolerable than the evening prior, the touchdown was smooth and soft. It felt satisfying beyond belief.
“Another nice landing,” said Clinton. “But remember a good landing doesn’t make you a good seaplane pilot—a good docking does.”
After landing, he instructed me to drop the water rudders (which instantly helped my taxiing ability on the water) and to make a left turn back toward the dock. Almost setting up a pattern in itself, I turned downwind and eyed the spot Clinton had in mind.
“All right, when we get on a left base for this dock, we will take our seat belts off, shut off one mag, pull carb heat, and I’ll get ready to get out on the float, then the dock,” Clinton said. “Once we get closer, kill it all together. Both mags, avionics, then mixture.”
As I came up on the side of the dock, I did just that. Clinton hopped out, grabbed the rope, tied us down, and that was that.
“Wow, not too shabby,” I said. “But I could see how the wind could make that way harder than need be.”
After snapping a few photos, Clinton climbed back in, and I used my feet to steer us away from the dock. As we got a little farther away, we put our seat belts and headsets back on, and I brought the airplane back to life. Or I tried to anyway. With the wind picking up, and the airplane having a slightly hard time hot starting, I found myself slowly floating back toward the dock.
With little time to spare before being pushed into the dock, the airplane purred to life, and we headed back toward the center of the lake.
“Wow, we were about to get pushed right into the dock,” I said.
“Yeah, it is super easy to find yourself in a bad spot,” Clinton replied.
With a docking lesson checked off the list, we went back for several more takeoffs and landings, and it began to feel like second nature. Although becoming a seaplane pilot is far from rocket science, it takes a special level of attention to detail, planning, and creativity at times. It was by far some of the most serene flying I have done to date, but I can’t say I’ll be putting a seaplane on my must-purchase list anytime soon.
With the added complexities of a boat mixed with the sometimes temperamental tendencies of an airplane, a seaplane is not something you can simply get in and go, especially if you’re operating as a one-man band. But for someone that loves the water and has the time, money, and energy to dedicate to this unique aviation niche, the opportunities are endless.
