‘Like a live map,’ a Truckee pilot’s amphibious aircraft opens a world of opportunity to explore both land and water

It’s chilly out, but an otherwise perfect morning for flying as Clayton Linnemann pushes his cherry-red-and-white SeaRey Elite seaplane from its hangar. Working under the purple sky of dawn, the Truckee-based private pilot circles the amphibious aircraft with a laminated checklist in hand, studiously examining its array of gadgets and components inside and out.  

Flying over Lake Tahoe’s North Shore

As I organize my gear, I can’t help but wonder: “Does he really need a checklist to fly us across the Sierra?” 

I would learn that Linnemann’s efforts are standard pre-flight routine—a visual inspection and mental list for safety and peace of mind. 

Still, I’m nervous. But that’s to be expected when cramming inside a tiny flying boat for a scenic cruise over the Sierra Nevada, with stops on watery runways from Lake Tahoe to Lake Crowley to Loon Lake. 

At least, that’s what I tell myself as we accelerate down the Truckee Tahoe Airport runway and lift into the sky, on our way to an epic adventure by seaplane.  

Elite Advantage

I’ve known Linnemann since 2013, when we met at the Quincy pool on a blistering hot afternoon during the High Sierra Music Festival. We discovered that we share a love for travel, and after a week-long bike-packing trip through the highlands of Guatemala in 2021, we became close and have remained friends since.  

Like a boat, the seaplane must be anchored to shore during exploration time on foot

This past October we realized we had holes that aligned in our busy schedules—a perfect window in the middle of Tahoe’s fall shoulder season. So we forged a plan to explore our mountain backyard using Linnemann’s plane.

On day one of our multi-day mission, we each packed a large Full Belly Deli sandwich and a few simple provisions (just in case the winds picked up and we became stranded in the wilderness). We had already determined our route, which would take us south to the trout fishing haven of Crowley Lake, about 11 miles from Mammoth. 

Since neither of us fish, however, this reservoir with its unique columnar formations—created when the Long Valley Dam was built in 1941 to store water for the Los Angeles Aqueduct—would merely be a sightseeing stop on our tour.  

Within minutes we were soaring over Mount Watson. I texted my wife Lauren that we were about to fly over our house in Carnelian Bay. We could see her waving on the porch as we buzzed by.  

Moments later we banked left and began to lose altitude. My stomach dropped a little as a confident Linnemann asked me to double-check if the wheels were up. They were. A feeling of excitement washed over as the blue expanse of Lake Tahoe filled my periphery. We touched down in the middle of the lake, gliding across its surface and maintaining our speed before lifting off again. Linnemann was just showing off the SeaRey’s capabilities. 

Sierra peaks and fall foliage

Fall foliage and serrated edges of peaks gave way to the wide-open plains of the Carson Valley. While we followed the general route of U.S. Route 395, we could easily make a turn and be one or two valleys deep in the Sierra, checking out those “I wonder what’s over there” spots I always think about when driving south from Tahoe. 

It reminded me of something Linnemann said before we took off: “That aerial view is like a live map and opens up the world. I can find new places way more efficiently.”

Indeed. I now understood what he meant.

With hardly a breeze blowing, we continued toward our destination, doing a quick flyby over a friend’s homestead near Bridgeport, then over the abandoned ghost town of Bodie before swooping across the mirror-like surface of Mono Lake.  

We purposely limited what we drank before taking off, as there is nowhere to go to the bathroom in the air. Nevertheless, by the time we touched down on Crowley Lake, both our bladders were ready to burst. It may have been the only time I sensed anxiousness in Linnemann.  

Exploring the foreign landscape of Crowley Lake

It felt otherworldly opening the hatches and unbuckling our belts on a foreign lake with water swishing up against our hull. Several fishermen on boats motored over to inspect, fearing we had just crash landed in their favorite fishing hole. We putted to shore and stretched out our legs. 

I’ve always thought of air travel as a time machine. An hour and 15 minutes earlier we were floating in the middle of Lake Tahoe. And now here we were on a gravely white beach, backdropped by mysterious white column formations. As passersby greeted us warmly, taking the opportunity to snap photos, Linnemann and I knew his amphibious plane was the way to access this geologic spectacle. 

Drawn to the Sky

Originally from Edgewood, Kentucky, Linnemann has lived the life of an explorer by land, air and sea, including a five-year stint sailing a small catamaran in the Caribbean. He’s also a bit of a thrill-seeker, although a calculated one when it comes to daring endeavors.

Clayton Linnemann takes in the view from the pilot’s seat of his amphibious SeaRey Elite

After purchasing his SeaRey Elite for $130,000 in June 2023, Linnemann, who owns and operates Tahoe LED Dance Floors, had to pick up the plane in Florida and fly it back to Truckee. On the return trip, he and his navigator/co-pilot found themselves in a dicey situation having to dodge massive thunderstorms outside of Dallas. After a scary flight, they eventually arrived safely thanks to educated decision-making and skillful piloting.  

Through stories like these, one can grasp Linnemann’s attention to detail, desire for safety and passion for adventure. 

As for flying, Linnemann learned at age 19 after taking lessons near his home in Cincinnati. He obtained his pilot’s license three years later, but without his own aircraft he flew infrequently, which was fun but not ideal. 

“Renting (a plane) 10 hours a year wasn’t great for my confidence, experience and safety,” says Linnemann. “I didn’t have the ambition to be a commercial pilot. It was always for enjoyment.”

Linnemann carefully reviews a laminated checklist before taking flight from a backcountry lake

He got into hang gliding for a couple of years starting in 2010 but soon moved on to other modes of flying. 

“It [hang gliding] was the coolest thing I’ve ever done, but it felt dangerous,” says Linnemann. “Not only that, but it took so much to get out to the hang gliding spots with gas, approaches, etc.” 

Out on the playa at Burning Man 2017, Linnemann scored a ride on a two-man trike, essentially a powered hang glider with a fabric flex-wing and a suspended tricycle fuselage pod with a pusher propeller. Nimble and weighing only about 500 pounds, trikes are cheap compared to other flying vehicles, which inspired Linnemann to purchase his own trike from a man in Phoenix for $30,000.  

He trailered it home and took some lessons with Carson City’s Sport Aviation Center before feeling confident enough to start exploring himself. After initial flights locally, then around the deserts of southern Nevada and Utah, Linnemann was hooked. The flying craft opened a world of possibilities and allowed him to accomplish his main goal with flying: to check out the landscape.

“It was never about the convenience of getting from point A to point B,” says Linnemann. “It was always about the experience of being in the air and opening up the world around me.”

Sunset Cruise

The legality of landing an amphibious plane on a Sierra Nevada lake is a gray area. Technically, you can land on any navigable body of water. Yet at the same time, many waters require specific permission, and some landings are not permissible at all, such as in national and state parks, wilderness areas and national monuments. 

Exploring a remote beach at Crowley Lake

Per Linnemann’s style, we played it safe and only landed on lakes we knew were fair game.  

As the day progressed, so did the forecasted winds on Lake Crowley. The SeaRey Elite doesn’t handle great in high winds, so we waited around for conditions to improve. During that time, we explored the surrounding area and made calls to investigate any potential lakeside lodging nearby.   

A few things need to go according to plan to leave a seaplane on water overnight, and none of them were working in our favor. To start, no one was answering their phones. We needed to speak with an actual person to get permission and information. We also needed a dock or marina where we could leave the plane with limited stress. 

When the wind finally died down, we hopped over to the Mammoth Yosemite Airport to refuel. It’s always a good idea to top off the tank before taking to the sky. The SeaRey Elite burns 5.5 gallons of fuel an hour at a speed of approximately 95 miles per hour. As such, we had burned through well over half of our 23-gallon tank.   

Since we failed to find an easy place to lodge for the night, we opted to head home just before sunset, with our sights set on flying high above the Sierra.  

Packed in tightly, we fired up some travel tunes and took off to the south before banking west near Mammoth Mountain. The winds dissipated as we continued to climb over the heart of the range. 

Sunset above the High Sierra

Before we knew it we were above 12,000 feet cutting through dark gray swaths of virga in a stunning sky, chirping off names of mountains and lakes below and telling tales of past adventures over our headsets. By the time we started searching for Matterhorn Peak, we realized we had crested 14,000 feet and were directly above it. 

At times I was overtaken by awe. Other times I was quickly consumed with fear. Minor turbulence mixed with the stark feeling of being alone in a colored sky above a vast sea of mountain peaks was mind-blowing. I felt safe, but my life was in someone else’s hands.

“Do you ever get scared?” I asked Linnemann.

“Sort of. I try not to,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not an adrenaline sport. I had to get up in the mountains and experience turbulence to understand it and to then understand what I don’t want to deal with.” 

‘Locals Tour’

Our plan for the next morning was to explore the greater Tahoe area. We departed again from Truckee Tahoe Airport just after sunrise, taking a slightly eastward route over Kings Beach before touching down along Tahoe’s East Shore. The infinite royal blue runway was smooth as silk, a huge contrast to the muddied hue of Crowley Lake.

The SeaRey Elite makes a splash on Lake Tahoe

Being late autumn, the lake was desolate. We cruised over to the most scenic spots and enjoyed an extended sunrise over the Carson Range. We lounged like lizards on granite, slowly waking up with the warmth of day. 

One of the coolest things about seaplane life is that once you land, you essentially have a boat. We motored south along the shoreline scoping the various inlets and coves before taking a break in one of Tahoe’s most glorious locales. 

But weather is always on Linnemann’s mind, and he pulled the plug on our loungey morning around 11 a.m. We had places to be, and the winds were soon to shift, Linnemann warned.

Cutting up an otherwise perfectly glassy surface, we headed toward the center of the lake before taking flight westward high above Desolation Wilderness, where 12 minutes later we would make our final stop on this “locals tour” of our backyard. The winds had picked up as Linnemann said, and I sensed a touch of trepidation in him as we circled Loon Lake looking for a place to land.

The view never gets old from this elevation, especially at sunset over Loon Lake

One-foot waves are about the SeaRey’s limit for landings. We could see small whitecaps as we approached. Skipping like a stone and thumping like a truck on a four-wheel-drive road, we skidded to a slow speed and proceeded to a nearby cove Linnemann had picked out in advance.

With waves breaking at our bow, we opened the windows, each grabbed one of his small paddles and rowed the plane to its afternoon mooring.  

Over the few days I spent navigating the air, land and water with Linnemann, I realized that when it comes to piloting an aircraft, learning how to fly it is just the start. The real work is learning to read the weather conditions and making sound decisions based on your knowledge and gut. 

At Loon Lake, we set up camp and wandered across the western border of Desolation Wilderness. Within minutes we were walking cross-country through fields of granite and past a selection of high mountain lakes—alone except for the hum of a helicopter long-lining porta-potties from the Rubicon Trail. 

A few weeks earlier we were chatting about this remote area of the Sierra and how fun it would be to check it out. And there we were, picking out places from the sky and exploring them by foot. The seaplane is like a live map, and Linnemann is the guide. 

Ryan Salm is a North Lake Tahoe-based photographer, writer and frequent world traveler.