Taylor Flat Airstrip: Solitude, Silence, and the Reality of Utah’s Reopened Backcountry Strip
There’s something special about flying into an airstrip that was dead for nearly three decades.
Taylor Flat Airstrip, tucked into Utah’s historic Browns Park region near the Green River, was recently reopened thanks to the efforts of the Utah Backcountry Pilots Association and the Recreational Aviation Foundation. Naturally, after seeing the posts and hearing the excitement around it, I wanted to go see it for myself.
The social media hype surrounding the reopening painted a pretty compelling picture:
Grab your fly rod, camp under the stars, and experience one of Utah’s hidden backcountry gems.
So that’s exactly what I set out to do.
The Flight In
I made the trip in my 1947 PA-12.
The original goal was to be taxiing away from the hangar at Ogden by 0600, but I underestimated how long it would take to pack the airplane. Lesson learned: on future overnight backcountry trips, the airplane will absolutely be packed and preflighted the night before.
Instead, I fired up and taxied out at 0627.
The weather could not have been much better. Smooth air, beautiful morning light, and an average 12-knot tailwind pushing me eastbound across northern Utah often crossing the boarder into souther Wyoming. Originally, I planned to cruise around 9,500 feet, but climbed up to 11,500 feet pretty early into the flight while skirting north of the Uinta Mountains.
The route was pretty straightforward: Ogden-Hinckley Airport (KOGD) through Ogden Canyon, over Morgan, then Manila Airport (40U), Dutch John Airport (33U), and finally direct into Taylor Flat. I stayed north of the Uinta Mountains the entire way, occasionally crossing into southern Wyoming as I worked eastbound toward Browns Park. (airnav.com)
It was one of those classic Utah mornings where simply being in the air feels worth the trip before you even reach the destination.
I landed at Taylor Flat at approximately 0801 local time — 1 hour and 34 minutes after departing Ogden.
First Impressions from the Air
I approached Taylor Flat from the west and made a couple of passes over the field to inspect the windsock, look over the terrain, and check for obstacles.
The power lines west of the runway that people mention online are there, but honestly they’re a non-issue if you know about them and stay aware.
The approach into Runway 26 is genuinely beautiful. On final, the Green River sits off to the east, carving its way through Browns Park below the ridge. It’s definitely the highlight of the arrival experience.
But even before touching down, I started realizing something important.
I had expected Taylor Flat to feel more remote.
Instead, from the air, you immediately notice signs of development near the strip. Across the road are hunting shacks, trailers, and a grid-style layout that makes the place feel less isolated than I had hoped
At first glance, I was still optimistic about river access. Looking down from above, it seemed like maybe you could simply walk down to the Green River and start fishing.
Then on short final I realized the usable section of the runway sits the furthest point from the water.
That was my first hint that the reality of Taylor Flat might be different than the dream people were selling online.
Landing at Taylor Flat
The runway itself was in surprisingly decent shape considering its history.
Taylor Flat had been closed for roughly 28 years before volunteer efforts restored it to operational condition. Huge credit goes to the volunteers from the Utah Backcountry Pilots Association and the Recreational Aviation Foundation who helped bring the strip back to life — especially “Pilot Princess” (callsign only… she’ll know who she is). You can still feel some of that history in the surface itself. There are softer spots where old trenches had been filled in, and the runway undulates with what I’d describe as mellow “whoop-de-doos” running up and down the strip.
But overall?
Totally manageable.
Once shut down, the first thing that hit me was how barren the area felt.
Sagebrush.
Prickly pear cactus.
Ant hills.
Dust.
Lots of dust.
The ridge itself is wide open with very little natural shelter from wind or sun. There are some trees down by the river, but up on the airstrip it feels exposed and rugged.
I was the only airplane there.
That said, it didn’t feel truly remote.
Across from the strip were several hunting shacks and permanently placed RV trailers. Later, my friend from Vernal explained that the area is known for trophy elk hunting in the nearby mountains.
The upside to that? If you had a real emergency, there’s probably help closer than you’d think.
Later that evening, just before dusk, a husband and wife rolled down the runway in a side-by-side and stopped to chat. The husband said he was a ranger, and both were incredibly friendly. They mentioned they were staying at a ranch near the river and offered water, cell service, and assistance if I needed anything.
Again, another reminder:
Taylor Flat feels isolated — but not truly cut off from civilization.
Camp Setup and Rookie Mistakes
For camping gear, I kept things pretty simple:
- REI Half Dome 3+
- Ascent sleeping pad
- My roughly 30-year-old REI 20-degree mummy bag
- Jetboil
- LifeStraw 5-liter water bag
- REI camp chair
The setup worked fine overall, though I’ll admit I spent a good chunk of the trip thinking about upgrading gear. My friend Dan Jones brought some camp chairs to 45 Ranch that completely spoiled me, and now I’m seriously eyeing both those chairs and a Zenbivy setup.
Food-wise, I grabbed two sausage burritos from Maverik before heading to the airport that morning. One became my in-flight breakfast and basically turned into an all-day snack.
Dinner was a ReadyWise Pro Adventure Meal Premium Pasta Ala Vodka with chicken.
Honestly?
Pretty damn good.
I’ll definitely buy more of those.
But this is where the trip turned into a comedy of errors.
First:
I forgot a spork.
Nothing makes you question your preparedness like staring at a steaming freeze-dried meal with no utensil.
Second:
I made the critical mistake of setting my tent downwind from the airplane.
Every trip back to the airplane kicked up dust that blew directly into the tent. By the end of the evening, everything was coated in dirt.
Future lesson learned:
Always place the tent upwind from the airplane and orient the tent door downwind so dust blows away from your sleeping area instead of into it.
Another lesson?
I desperately need a standardized backcountry packing checklist and probably dedicated survival gear that permanently lives either in the airplane or in my fishing pack.
I also regretted not having proper backcountry tie-down anchors for the airplane.
Wind, Silence, and the Stars
The wind blew around 17 knots most of the day.
Not dangerous — just relentless.
The kind of wind that constantly reminds you you’re camping on an exposed desert ridge.
Around 9 PM, it finally started calming down. By 11 PM, it was dead calm and stayed that way until my early morning departure.
That’s when the magic of the place finally showed itself.
I removed the rainfly from my tent so I could stare directly into the sky while falling asleep.
The Milky Way was incredible.
With virtually no light pollution, the stars exploded across the sky in a way that’s hard to fully describe unless you’ve spent time in truly dark country.
But honestly?
The thing that struck me even more than the stars was the silence.
No birds.
No insects.
No highway noise.
No airplanes.
Nothing.
Absolute silence.
It was almost surreal.
The Fishing Reality
This is probably the most important thing anyone considering Taylor Flat needs to understand.
Fishing access is nowhere near as convenient as social media makes it sound.
That doesn’t mean the fishing nearby isn’t phenomenal.
The Green River is legendary for a reason.
But from Taylor Flat specifically?
Getting there is a pain.
You basically have two options:
- Hike roughly half a mile down a steep incline toward the river — knowing you’ll eventually have to climb back out wearing waders and carrying gear.
- Hike approximately 1.5 miles to the campground area for easier river access.
Personally, I don’t think it’s really worth flying into Taylor Flat specifically for fishing unless you’re prepared to backpack in and camp closer to the river itself.
And even then, there’s another issue:
Density altitude.
In the summer, you really want to depart early in the morning while conditions are cool. Camping down by the river means either hiking back to the airplane in the dark or hiking out the evening before departure.
Logistically, it becomes awkward pretty quickly.
My honest recommendation to pilots wanting to fish the Green River?
Fly into Dutch John instead.
It’s paved, simple, and far more practical. From there, hire one of the local guide services or shuttle operators to get you onto Sections A or C.
Floating the C-Section
I got lucky.
Before the trip, I had reached out to a coworker and friend from Vernal just in case I somehow found myself stranded out there.
A little while later, he called and asked:
“Want to float the river?”
Absolutely.
We spent the day floating the C-section in his drift boat, and I ended up landing an absolutely beautiful 20-inch brown trout — easily one of the highlights of the entire trip.
Without that experience, I think Taylor Flat would have ranked significantly lower in my memory.
Browns Park, Butch Cassidy, and the Outlaw Vibe
One of the coolest parts of the trip wasn’t actually the airstrip itself.
It was the history.
My friend explained that Browns Park — also called Browns Hole Valley — was historically a refuge for outlaws like Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch.
The area was once expected to boom due to oil and natural gas development, but much of that never materialized.
That outlaw history gives the area a unique personality that honestly feels more compelling than the airstrip itself.
In fact, by the end of the trip, Aviatrix and I started joking that Taylor Flat might actually be the perfect place for a future Blind Pig Pilot “Speakeasy Tent” fly-in.
A mocktail speakeasy in outlaw country?
That honestly sounds pretty perfect.
Final Thoughts
So would I fly back to Taylor Flat?
Honestly?
Probably not.
At least not for an overnight fishing trip.
If my goal was fishing the Green River again, I’d simply fly into Dutch John.
But that doesn’t mean Taylor Flat isn’t worth experiencing.
The approach into Runway 26 is beautiful.
The stars are phenomenal.
The silence is unforgettable.
And the history of Browns Park adds something unique to the experience.
Taylor Flat isn’t a luxury backcountry destination.
It’s not especially comfortable.
It’s not particularly convenient.
But maybe that’s part of its identity.
It’s a place for solitude.
For quiet.
For history.
For pilots who simply want to say:
“Yeah… I flew in there.”