Most musicians and guitar aficionados know about the legendary and mystical “Custom Shop,” located deep in the bowels of Fender Musical Instruments’ headquarters in Corona, Calif. It’s here that drool-worthy dreams are made, and where custom, one-of-a-kind guitars and amplifiers are born. The shop is populated by the finest luthiers and builders in the world, and their passion and dedication to their artistry is evident everywhere you look. As a musician, I was lucky enough to visit the Custom Shop, and I’ve never experienced another place like it.

That is until I had the pleasure of spending a few days with Todd and Jo Peterson of Peterson’s Performance Plus in El Dorado, Kansas. This is where the equally mystical and unique King Katmai is crafted, and where Todd and Jo have introduced their latest creation to the world—the swift and capable Kenai.

If you didn’t know, the Katmai is likely the most capable backcountry aircraft out there. Rather than rely on marketing hyperbole, I experienced the airplane firsthand last year while visiting the red-rock Canyonlands and remote airstrips of Southeastern Utah. The King Katmai is a powerful machine with the heart of a pussycat that can do things nothing else can do. It relies on a number of innovations including a unique, moveable canard system, interlinked with the elevator, which gives the Katmai performance that has to be experienced to be believed.

The canard system allows nearly flat angles of attack even at very low speeds and a stall speed of around 35 knots. That means it can get into and out of places that no other aircraft this size can handle, but it does so in style and comfort. While a gutted, carbon-fiber Super Cub can take off in 300 feet in the mountains, it does so in a noisy, jeep-like way. The King Katmai does the same thing while carrying three or four people and their gear in comparative luxury. More on that later.

In their ongoing conversations with customers, the Petersons took note that some of them didn’t want backcountry capability. What they did want was the aerodynamic safety of the Katmai without the hardened, bush-flying elements like huge tires. They needed the slow-speed, margin-above-the-stall capability of the Katmai, but with the genteel and refined character of a more citified machine. Enter the Kenai.

The Kenai is equally at home on grass as it is on pavement. Several panel options let owners select anything from round gauges to different all-glass configurations.

The Secret Sauce
No conversation about the Kenai, or Katmai, can be had without understanding what makes the aircraft special. “There are outfits out there who’ll bolt on some huge engine to your 182, and that’s it,” says Peterson, in his soft Nebraska drawl. “But there is a lot more to it than that.” He explains how aerodynamics give his airplanes their capability. “Anybody can slow an airplane down and hang it on its prop with a big motor, but we make it so you can go slow and still maintain a flat attitude and hold a lot of energy in reserve all the way down to the runway.”

The Petersons secret is the sum of a number of modifications added to the unique handling qualities afforded by the canard. The canard itself opposes the down force on the tail and gives the nose extra lift at low speeds, especially below 60 knots, according to Peterson. It increases elevator effectiveness at slow speeds, also reducing the stall speed, and allowing takeoff and landing at much lower airspeeds than normal.

An aircraft only stalls when it reaches its critical angle of attack, easily done when flying slowly due to the need for more lift at low speeds. But imagine flying very slowly at a nearly flat angle of attack. The margin above the stall remains large, affording tremendous safety and allowing pilots with less experience to fly the aircraft slow enough to get into tight strips without excessive risk. And the 3,000-pound airplane will make a 180-degree turn at low speed in a radius as wide as a four-lane highway.

How It’s Made
The Katmai and Kenai are both conversions based on the Cessna 182. Todd starts the process by hand-selecting only model P and Q Cessna Skylanes in pristine condition. He vets each one himself and meticulously picks only the absolute cleanest airframes with zero corrosion, complete and accurate logbooks, and no damage of any kind. Cessna built 7,000 of these, “so there’s no danger of running out,” Peterson laughs, “but I reject about 60% of the aircraft I look at.”

He brings each airframe to his beautiful shop in the corner of a quiet little municipal airport in El Dorado, just northeast of Wichita. Here, Todd, his wife, Jo, and newcomer, Andrew inspect and gut the airframe and proceed to custom-build the aircraft to the exact specifications requested by his customers. “Each one is different. Each one unique,” Peterson tells me while showing me the different airplanes he has awaiting delivery or additional work. Each individual brings specialized skills, and their craftsmanship is superb.

On the Katmais, Peterson lengthens the wing and modifies it structurally. The aircraft is beefed up with 29-inch bush tires and wheels, the nose wheel and mains are strengthened, and a host of aerodynamic and drag reduction changes are made. The complete interior and all windows are replaced and a new panel installed based on what the customer wants. Firewall forward, most everything is replaced, with the canard system installed and bolted to a custom engine mount. Most customers opt for the 300 hp Continental IO-550 engine, which Peterson has modified with a larger oil cooler, along with an 82-inch, three-blade propeller. The entire airframe is custom painted, and details like leather-wrapped yokes are added. The result is a nearly new airplane with a zero-time engine.

Jo and Todd Peterson and Andrew Warren are the artisans that create the Kenai.

The Kenai
The Kenai does away with the wing modifications and beefed-up tires of the Katmai, but it retains many of its trademarks, especially the canard. The big difference? Speed. “By getting rid of some of the backcountry elements, we still retain the safety and handling of the Katmai,” Peterson explains, “but we can give them a faster airplane.”

Interior options abound and help personalize each aircraft to its owner.

From far away, the Kenai looks like a really nice Skylane. But, closer inspection reveals not only the canard on the nose, but a host of modifications around the gear. Completely redesigned wheel pants and smaller tires than the Katmai change the airflow and seal gaps around the tire, also reducing weight. The Kenai thus sits lower, and its stock wing gives it a more refined look, along with more speed. Peterson advertises the Kenai with cruise speeds in the 152- to 156-knot range, and in my flight test, we were seeing 160 knots true at 7,500 feet operating rich of peak (ROP) and 156 knots true, lean of peak (LOP).

Even with that big engine, the Kenai isn’t a gas hog, burning 13 to 16 gph depending on leaning. Its astonishing useful load of 1,210 pounds makes it a truly useful airplane, boasting 1,800-fpm climb rates and a range approaching 1,000 nm. The airplane can be outfitted however a customer desires, from Spartan to downright luxurious, and panel options abound. Today, most customers are opting for the Garmin GTN750 as a starting point, with various mixes of round gauges and glass.

In The Air
We took the Kenai to both paved and grass strips to test its mettle. From the moment I pushed the throttle forward, I was mesmerized. Being accustomed to stock 182s, I expected enough time before takeoff to finish my sentence of conversation with Peterson. But by the time the throttle reached the end of its travel, we were airborne.

“Go flat,” admonished Peterson from the right seat. Just after breaking ground, I pushed the nose forward. “Now turn,” he said. Just over half a wingspan above the runway, I cranked the big airplane into a solid bank, something you just don’t do in a general aviation airplane. “Now, doesn’t that still feel good?” asked Peterson. And I had to admit it did. There was no hanging on the prop, no stall warning blaring, no mushing or softness in the elevator. Just solid lift, with plenty more behind it. “You can feel how much lift is still there,” Peterson noted. Pretty impressive.

The Kenai’s design allows extremely slow landing speeds with a nearly flat nose attitude, allowing for excellent visibility while maintaining a large margin above the stall speed.

Thinking it was maybe just a parlor trick, I slowed the big Kenai for some slow air work. The control harmony is particularly good at altitude, with that big Continental as smooth as a just-picked peach. At 13 inches on the manifold, I dropped the flaps. One thing to be careful of in the Kenai is throttle movements. You can’t just yank the throttle back like on a 172. The Continental demands finesse, and that big engine and prop are huge aerodynamic brakes.

At 55 knots, I thought I had done something wrong because the nose was so flat. I could see over it, a rarity in flight this slow. Also, the controls felt solid and responsive without that characteristic softness. We did turns at 50 knots, then 45, trimmed hands-off and effortless, with not a peep from the stall warning.

Landings were a complete hoot, approaching at 65 nearly flat, then looking for some sink and using just the throttle to control the descent as we slowed to 55 and then 45 knots. Peterson had me scoot along the runway, nose slightly up at 40 knots, helping me to feel the buoyancy of the airplane, still abundant even at this slow speed. I remarked that it would be hard to get in trouble in this airplane. “Safety, that’s what it’s really all about,” he answered.

The canard has a movable surface that synchronizes with the elevator. It opposes downforce on the tail and adds lift to the nose, giving the Kenai and Katmai their unsurpassed capabilities.

Passion Comes First
The Peterson team reminds me very much of the artisans at Fender. It may sound like a cliché, but the truth is that their passion for aviation comes long before their desire to make a buck. Sure, making a profit is necessary, but there were many years when Todd and Jo didn’t make much, if anything. They continued to build airplanes because they believed in their product.

The small team’s dedication to aviation is evident in their business attitude. “We turn away a lot of orders because we want to focus on quality and not quantity,” says Todd. “We’re sold out through this year,” he continues, “and you’d have to wait about two years to get one if you ordered it today.”

Its astonishing useful load of 1,210 pounds makes it a truly useful airplane, boasting 1,800-fpm climb rates and a range approaching 1,000 nm.

The Petersons explain that they could add employees, expand their facility and make more airplanes to add to the more than 500 they’ve sold in some 15 countries. “But that would take the fun out of it,” Todd says in his thoughtful voice. A man who’s famous for his exacting routines in Harold Krier’s de Havilland Chipmunk, Peterson spent 20 years flying air shows with Jo, who did her own amazing routine in Krier’s famous single-pit Great Lakes. At one time, they were building 40 or more airplanes a year. “It became work and put too much pressure on us,” he explains, “but we do this because we love it, so we scaled back, and I’m happy just where we are.”

The Katmai has given birth to a whole community of fans who look to Peterson for everything from general advice to backcountry training to moral support. “Our business is unique because I fly with every one of my customers and check them out in the airplane,” he says. “We know each one and stay in touch with them.” Jo accompanies Todd on their backcountry trips, giving the whole operation a family feel.

Very much a regular backcountry pilot and known in that circle, Todd even leads owner’s group flights to backcountry strips in Idaho, Utah and around the country. These don’t benefit him financially; he and Jo do it to stay connected to the community. “We started this business because we just wanted a better backcountry airplane,” he smiles. “Now, it has become a whole social thing, and I’m very pleased with that.” Listening to Peterson talk about his life’s work, I walk away knowing that it’s aviation that drives him. “Really, I’m just a mechanic and a backcountry guy.”

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Peterson Kenai
SPECIFICATIONS
Engine:	Continental IO-550
Horsepower (hp):	300
Propeller:	82-inch, 3 blade. Optional 86-inch.
Gross Weight (lbs.):	3100
Empty Weight (lbs.):	1890
Useful Load (lbs.):	1210
Baggage Capacity (lbs.):	200
Wingspan (feet):	36
Length (feet):	29
Height:	9 feet 2 inches
Seating Capacity:	4
Cabin Width (inches):	42
PERFORMANCE
VNE (knots):	179 knots
Cruise Speed (knots):	152 LOP, 156 ROP
Stall Speed (knots):	35 (flaps 20 degrees)
Fuel Consumption (gph):	13 LOP, 16.5 ROP
Max Range:	74 Gal Usable (nm): 865 LOP, 699 ROP 88 Gal Usable (nm): 1028 LOP, 832 ROP Loitering (gph): 7.5 at 55 knots
Service Ceiling (feet):	21,000
Take Off (feet):	350
Landing (feet):	350
Rate Of Climb (fpm):	1800

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If you’re coming down that canyon thinking, “I can do this three out of five times,” you’re going to be scared to death. Because you don’t know if this is one of the three—or one of the two.—Todd Peterson

This is unreal. How can he land coming in like that?

True, the reddish, sandy dirt strip is 1,400-feet long. But a good bit is brushy, rocky or too soft. Most pilots would say, “Pass,” unless they fly a jeep with wings, a super bushwhacker like a Husky…or this plane, the King Katmai.

Massive sediment-layered buttes, burnished to rich maroon-gold by the morning sun, vault 1,000 feet into the clear, calm blue all around me. But the austere beauty doesn’t change reality: This strip, called Happy Canyon, is one unforgiving desert scratch in the desert.

Yet Todd and Jo Peterson’s Cessna 182-on-steroids is about to touch down, one way or another, from a dramatically unusual approach. Near the end of a base leg flown just eight feet above ground, he banks left now at almost 30 degrees into a ridiculously short final, straight toward me.

Airspeed’s around 50 knots; his inside wingtip anchors the turn, a foot or two above the scrub brush. What’s strange is the way the airplane isn’t nose-high, hanging on the prop like most planes shooting a near-stall, short-field approach.

This is the beating heart of the Katmai: You can hold a steep bank and watch the wingtip just skim above the brush with complete confidence.

No, it’s level, nose to tail, as if in a cruising turn at altitude. Very cool. Weird, but cool.

I raise the camera and fire away, wondering how long it will take to walk out of this Butch and Sundance outlaw terrain if he prangs in. A long time, pardner. A real long time.

Down & Clean
The Katmai deftly rounds the corner…holds the turn, clean and smooth…the inside main drops lower…lower…then its big 29-inch balloon tire drags up some dirt precisely as the 182 comes into line with the “runway” and drops briskly onto the other main. The nosewheel settles firmly, and the plane rumbles by to stop 200 feet down the strip.

Whew. You’ve got to see one of these to believe it. This is a Wichita Tin cruiser? Only in appearance, brother.

Todd Peterson built this STOL-bred King Katmai precisely to enable such thread-the-needle landings. But this is a tricycle-gear airplane, not a taildragger. A Skylane, for Peterson’s sake. How does he get it to perform like that?

I trot past the sun-blackened old miner’s cabin and hop in. Once, this Utah badlands region sheltered outlaws and ancient Indians from posses, hostile tribes and the elements. Now, as we arc up and away, I’m having my own High Noon moment. For the next dirt-strip landing, at Angel Point, I’ll be at the controls.

Down & Clean
The Katmai deftly rounds the corner…holds the turn, clean and smooth…the inside main drops lower…lower…then its big 29-inch balloon tire drags up some dirt precisely as the 182 comes into line with the “runway” and drops briskly onto the other main. The nosewheel settles firmly, and the plane rumbles by to stop 200 feet down the strip. Whew. You’ve got to see one of these to believe it. This is a Wichita Tin cruiser? Only in appearance, brother. Todd Peterson built this STOL-bred King Katmai precisely to enable such thread-the-needle landings. But this is a tricycle-gear airplane, not a taildragger. A Skylane, for Peterson’s sake. How does he get it to perform like that? I trot past the sun-blackened old miner’s cabin and hop in. Once, this Utah badlands region sheltered outlaws and ancient Indians from posses, hostile tribes and the elements. Now, as we arc up and away, I’m having my own High Noon moment. For the next dirt-strip landing, at Angel Point, I’ll be at the controls.

Getting The Point
Normally stories like this come from writers with tons of Skylane hours and lots of wilderness landings under their belts. By contrast, I just got my sport pilot ticket in a Flight Design all-composite LSA. I’ve got maybe 250 hours total in Wichita Tin types, most of it straight and level en route to photo shoots. But here’s the notion: Peterson figures if I can handle strips like this one, with no landing experience in a C-182, it will be a great testimonial to the King Katmai’s bush-optimized chops.

Meanwhile, I’m calculating that with Peterson riding shotgun and talking me through it, what do I have to lose? Other than bladder control, that is.

Heading toward Angel, I notice that the controls feel more responsive than those of a conventional Skylane, notably in pitch. That’s due to the moveable high-lift canard up front, sticking out of the cowling on either side.

Ah, that canard. It’s the secret to the Katmai’s incredible slow-flight performance. But first, let’s get to know the Kingmaker—then his King.

Not Your Daddy’s 182
Todd Peterson became a pilot 41 years ago, at age 15. He claims he never flew professionally other than eight years spent on the air show circuit with wife Jo doing inverted ribbon cuts and such, which sounds professional enough by half. “No, I’m a mechanic by trade,” he insists as desolate rivers of convoluted red rock slide by below. “I got my A&P certificate in 1970 and my IA in ’73.”

Several years later, Peterson segued from engine overhauls and aircraft annuals to produce the Wren 460. An evolutionary offshoot of Jim Robertson’s Skyshark, the Wren was a STOL conversion of the Cessna 182. Both models sported full-span, double-slotted flaps, spoilers to aid aileron roll control…and that cool little moustache of a canard.

Robertson earned an STC, but his Wren business eventually went bankrupt. “Once I acquired the STC,” says Peterson, “it took three more years to get the Wren back into production. A good backcountry airplane, it lacked cross-country cruising speed and altitude. Useful load was low too, and it was a bit complex but very sophisticated in terms of the lift systems on it.”

Over time, the Wren evolved into the Peterson 260SE, which sports a fuel-injected, 260 hp Continental engine for added up-front muscle. En route, the slotted flaps and spoilers went the way of the dodo. What remained was a true STOL airplane that stalled at 35 knots—yet cruised at 150.

Immune to general aviation’s sales doldrums, Peterson’s Performance Plus (www.katmai-260se.com) racked up an impressive 500+ sales in 14 countries over the next two decades.

“Who would have thought,” he marvels, “there was so much interest in backcountry flying?”

Peterson continually refined the 260SE. But eventually, he envisioned a bush plane built just for himself. “I added three feet of wingspan to the 260 and began testing it out on backcountry strips in Idaho and Utah. I’ve just beaten the tar out of it since. That’s how I evolve all my airplanes. And I’m now happy with the configuration. It’s a real good machine.”

He named it Katmai. The most recent addition to the breed, the King, differs from the others only in its 300 horse, fuel-injected Continental IO-550 mill. Other bushworthy features and options for all Katmais include:
• anti-abrasion stainless-steel strips for the landing gear’s leading edges.
• heavy-duty brakes, and brake lines routed behind the gear to avoid snagging ground obstacles.
• custom interior configurations, including an eight-foot cargo area with a flat floor and 12 tiedowns. (Bring on the camping gear!)
• custom, tailorable avionics including full IFR packages.
• an onboard generator to recharge the battery, preheat the engine, refill a flat tire or power a campsite.

The only difference between all the Katmai models and the 260SE is that extra three feet of span, which reduces stall speed by four knots. That may not sound like much until you realize it cuts landing and takeoff distance by 20%—to under 300 feet! [The Katmai wing extensions are provided by Wing X/Air Research Technologies: www.wingxstol.com.]

Ah, that canard. It’s the secret to the Katmai’s incredible slow-flight performance.

“Even at 6,000 feet with no wind, sitting on a supersoft surface, when I see 300 to 400 feet of strip ahead of me, I know I’m in plenty good shape,” says Peterson.

Ze Canard Eez Not A Duck, Monsieur!
Now to that canard. In a nutshell, the little wing up front works in conjunction with the tail (i.e., canard elevator up, tail elevator down) to hold pitch attitude, especially at low speeds, pretty much level.

In 2006, Todd Peterson first introduced the Katmai, which followed the 260SE backcountry performer.

“Tail download,” says Peterson, “aerodynamically balances an airplane in flight. But it’s dead weight. The canard provides lift, which doubles the pitch coefficient because it also removes that tail download. It’s what gives the airplane its ability to fly level at slow speeds. That’s where the buoyant feel comes from. The flight controls remain highly effective even near stall because of the lower angle-of-attack airflow over the wingtips.”

He has me dial in 55-knot level flight by throttling back to 16 inches and trimming to hold altitude. And even though we’re down near a normal Skylane’s 49-knot stall speed, there’s no mushy feeling at all. It handles like power steering in a big car.

The Point
Angel Point sits at 5,287 feet atop a flat mesa with steep cliffs all around. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid rode the Outlaw Trail right by here en route to their hideout at Robber’s Roost.

The strip’s plenty long enough for a newbie—but 20 feet wide. It looks like a foot trail.

We descend and overfly at 400 feet AGL, scoping out whether there’s a posse waiting for us in the form of rocks, animals, wind or mud patches.

“Information is your friend,” my mentor reminds me. “The more information you have, the more likely you are to make good landings and use the airplane properly.”
Everything looks good below. Here we go!

On downwind, Peterson lays out the Katmai Holy Grail: “The airplane itself is relatively easy to fly. You just have to get used to coming in with a lower speed.” I’m a sport pilot. No sweat. Next?

“The key is to always set up a stabilized approach.”

That means 20 degrees of flaps—for minimum stall speed—and about 16 inches of manifold pressure. That always leads to 55 knots straight and level: “The most efficient loitering speed of the airplane. Think of 60 knots as your maximum approach speed,” says Peterson.

“Most bush planes land way behind the power curve. But the farther behind the power curve, the less safe you are—if you lose power, you have big problems in a hurry. In the Katmai, we’re right at the top of the power curve or slightly on the backside. So if we need to arrest descent and climb back out in a hurry, response is immediate.”

With approach stabilized, Peterson urges me to keep speed at 50 to 55 with the yoke, and to use throttle to control glidepath. “Now, when you throttle back, you’ll immediately get sink—so make power adjustments small.”

I throttle back to 13 inches, and pretty quickly, we’re approaching 400 fpm down. I eyeball the strip: we’re high. I pull off more throttle—too much. Descent jumps to 500 fpm. I ease on power, and we’re back at 400 fpm.

“Good. Get used to working throttle to control descent all the way down,” says Peterson.

The touchdown spot slides toward us. Back, easy on the yoke. The level attitude gives great visibility over the nose. Back a bit more, there’s the stall buzzer, and with a minimal flare, we settle on well below 40 knots, if a bit sooner than I expected—those bush tires are tall!

I brake firmly, and we stop in no time at all. That was a lot easier than I had expected—what a sweetheart.

I back-taxi, turn around and throttle up to full power. “Pull back now,” he says. I pull. The Katmai surges forward, and the nosewheel immediately lifts completely off the dirt, less than a fuselage length after we started rolling. Up a slight rise we surge, thanks to that big IO-550. Five seconds and 300 feet later, the Katmai floats off at 35 knots!

“Just ease the yoke forward,” he cautions. The airplane quickly transitions to level flight as we pass through 45 knots. “Okay, give her a good turn right now!”

At just 10 feet above the ground, I crank; she banks to 30 degrees, smooth and solid, and we’re quickly in a max-efficiency climbing turn at 60 knots.

This is the beating heart of the Katmai: You can hold a steep bank and watch the wingtip just skim above the brush with complete confidence. Consider the possibilities.

Feeling its nimble strength through my own hands, I can readily imagine winding out of tight spots such as blind canyons, or carving tight turns on takeoff and landing to avoid obstacles that wouldn’t even be possible in a conventional bird.

Of Ancient Dreams
I shoot a few more landings at other remote spots, and with each strip, I get a better sense of just how much the King Katmai can do. It truly is easy to fly, not unlike an ultralight or LSA in the way it gets you in and out of just about any place imaginable.

Peterson talks about his shortest backcountry strip ever: 150 feet! “It took 100% of the airplane,” he says with a smile, “and 90% of my skill to pull it off.”

We finish our Canyonlands fun tour all too soon at Mexican Mountain. Taking photos of Anasazi rock petroglyphs a short walk from our landing site, I’m taken by a scratched-in symbol of two hands, reaching for the infinite blue above. Later, cruising home, I ponder that ancient yearning immortalized in rock. How they would have thrilled, those primitive people, to lift off from their walking trails with such ease, to stretch up their own hands and grasp the sky. And how lucky we are, to live their ancient dreams.

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