I just looked in my logbook which shows a week of flying Cessna 182 Kilo Romeo Bravo carrying fish, sharkmeat and croc skins from Baimuru to the highlands and beyond to the North coast which was laced with sandy beaches and coral reefs , unlike the muddy Gulf of Papua region upon which Baimuru sat in the oppressive humidity.
I was twenty five and I had nineteen hundred hours.
The mystery of the F27 coming close to me over the pass near Lake Kutubu was about to reveal itself.
I bummed a ride to Lae on the coast in the sixth seat of a Beech Baron. At the last minute, I crawled in through the baggage door. The four pax were Chimbu's on their way to a Tribal Council meeting , most of which ended up with at least one of them leaking badly if they went by truck where they could carry weapons. The government flew them for free if they left weapons behind. Good plan.
Upon arrival I flashed up the Alfa Romeo and made my way to the Trans Australia Airline facility, nestled in trees a few blocks back from the beach. The crews lived in louvered Dongas which housed four, each with their own room and they shared a common bathroom. A pool surrounded by lustful tropical flowers was draped with gorgeous bronzed Air Hostesses , as they were called then. I watched them gathered their things , the bar was coming alive ......
Credence Clearwater Revival , Moody Blues ... the tunes were good in the early seventees.
I always wore my khaki army shirt that had holes where my wings once were pinned, holes where my rank was pinned... longish hair ..I meant to be set apart.
They were all airline types and little more structured than I. They flew F27 Fokkers and DC3's. Most were on six month postings from Australia but the check/training pilots were here permanently with their families.
Charm was the viscous grease with which I oiled my social life. Sure, they had some tales. I, on the other hand, had my balls hanging out over the jungle, a fertile place for tales of daring do.
I was caught up in the slipstream of the dare.
Hmmmm. I gaze about the room, already forming into small groups. My Heidi is conspicuous by her absense.
Fatty Hawkins is already entertaining some new shiellas , from Australia. If they should let their guard down , the Duke will be on them. Heidi has a month to go before exhausting her posting and is about to return to Australia..It is time to conduct interviews.
I slide between the two ... divide and conquer, I always say.
"Hey Fatty!" is my opening line,"was that you checking me out over the pass near Kutubu in the F27?"
I gaze left and downward , to the cleavage born out of a little boddice number, and right, to see two little puppies noses gently pressing through a short little cotton summer dress.
But Fatty is agitated as he grabs my arm and spirits me to a quiet corner.
"While you were in the highlands this past week Captain Seiko, that cheap little c**t, he violated you." Fatty is mad. "and Skinny was his F/O .. and Skinny couldn't do any thing about it. We all tried hinting to you on HF .. where the hell were you?"
I had missed all this .. I was up the Angoram River in a motorized log canoe .. we were looking for an Agiba, a skull rack.
"You see, Sieko was IFR and asked Madang Flight Service if they had any traffic for him. They said no so he squeeled on you. "I have a C182 at fourteen thousand , hang on a shake and I'll veer left and get his registration" Fatty relates this story as he glances furtively to the other corner .. and there he is, Capt Sieko, a check Captain who peddled cheap watches to his suborinates.. and hogged the flying from his F/O's.
Hell ! I was at fourteen thousand feet saving my arse climbing back to the highlands over some cumulous buildups.
The first urge is to bound across the room and grab the little prick by the throat ...I had to do this with aplomb and alacrity. I thinks ..and thinks ... it comes to me.
I walk slowly towards Seiko .. greeting people ... affirming my popularity ..Seiko is pontificating at some young sweatty F/O, fresh up from Australia. His eyes dart at me .. ratlike. Cornered ...
"Oh how you vex me so!" says I in a stuffy Elizabethian voice, smiling at those gathering around for the kill.
"I fail to recall , sir , when it was that a briefing prior to any formation flying was conducted. It is required , you know , by law , sir." He is stultified. I smirk for I am an asshole. There is some giggling amid a few guffaws as he scurries away.
The paperwork was stopped.
A love affair was about to blossom ...next.