from DC 3 to A 330
preparing for a take-off outta youngstown ohio. DC 3 packed with car side- panels, edges sharp as razors, one atop the other, strapped down (?) properly the full length of the fuselage...wore thick gloves to save slicing through cold numb skinned hands and fingers...was normal to cut yourself, blood feels nice and warm inside the leather till you realize it aint gonna stop bleeding. run over to the closet FAK, iodines gone, bandaids too old to be sticky and useful. time running out, pager call from the guys, usually truckers making extra money for loading or off-loading the material waiting at dumdunk municipal airport where unicom is the only way to communicate. it is snowing out. 3 am and i still have to fill both oil tanks up on the upper wings. blood flow is closing on itself, pager screen is barely readable smudged in rusty red brown smears. tell the truckers were running a little late, will call them 50 miles out on unicom. pilot controlled runway lighting. hand hurts. climb the step ladder and slowly, very slowly, manage my way to the tank filler cap. all this trying not to slide back down the slanted wing unto the icy ground, ouch.
made it after spilling a couple of quarts over my snowmobile suit and boots. damn. looking upwards at the lightning to the west. we were to fly west. oh boy. get in the cockpit, run through long ago memorized pre start list, hit the magneto, rooommmm roooammmmphhh, bahkkk bakkk, thick exhaust blowing out the PW 1830-92īs. real airplanes have round engines. do our run-ups on the active runway, theres no one out here at 3:20am. rains thundering down.
i check the quarter inch toothpick carefully placed on the wing leading edge.
our tool to activate the rubber boots; when the ice built up to the tip get the boots going. worked fine, this cowboy technology. full takeoff power, long run before the tail took to flight, pushing the horns forward to accelerate till lift off ( in the butt basically ) the cabin shaking and heaving in its indestructible airframe...smack into low cloud, imc, icing and thunderous explosions all around. water flowing down over our audio panel, unto our laps ( thankgod for the yachting gear ) bird climbing at maybe 400 fpm. moderate turbulence, cant see the engine dials, barely able to keep wings level. plowing on through. water everywhere. reminded me of my sailor days, short steep and violent waves of the mediterranean dominating the worse days. no time for a butt, no time but to forge on. climbing through 2500 feet, a great shrieking grind of loose car parts going every which way but mainly towaards the tail....still in imc, freight fully aft now, can barely keep the nose down. both pilots pushing pushing pushing forward. slowly accelerating again. i run aft and start hauling throwing parts forward, one by one, no gloves, slicing my hands in a zillion places but after 20 minutes flight was under control. we licked our mental and physical wounds as we battled the rest of the mid west storm ( no radar, no autopilot ) with the cold water raining down on us. as we laughed at how close we had been to stalling in, all kinds of thoughts came to mind...give this up, this is crap living dangerously, poor pay and leaving detroit for youngstown then tumbunk, night approach, non precision to a short lonely airfield with pilot controlled lighting....irrate truckers waiting to get us un-loaded and get home to a warm bed and beer...pager goes off. my hands hurting more and more, even i can see im in need of several stitches, but the freight must get delivered.....
There is MUCH MUCH MORE TO TELL....:
freight dog to executive pilot, to turpo prop regional captain, ad hoc 737 charter captian all over europe and lately A 330 long haul relief captain.....