Tales of An Old Aviator .... The Big Chill

[Duke Elegant]

A few hours ago....

"Well Duke...(that's not my real name)the news is not good," said the doc. "The cancer...it's back.Your CEA count is up and...." I only half listened."Mass on your liver...something in your abdomen..blah blah blah"
A chill, like a rapier, shot up my spine... a big chill..the information he gave was only the clarity of dreams.My wife and I never even looked at each other. She had been through it once with me already.The chemo, the pukeing, ****ting, needles, hair all over the house, nausea and fear.Like some creature devoid of form, the big "C" was stalking me.
Fear you say....from an old Aviator?

Thursday, November the 28th.2002
The call came as usual on this date every year...from my old co-pilot.

"Happy Lobster Day!" and then we laughed and recalled that fatefull day five years ago out over the Atlantic.

The plan sounded simple...we were to base the C117(Super DC3) in Yarmouth Nova Scotia in order to fly live lobsters to New York prior to shipment to Japan. I had already done a couple of trips but now with B Check Authority I was to line indoctrinate a new Captain and co-pilot.A flawless day, although cold, made flight planning easy except for the forty knot headwind. We had plenty of fuel and nine thousand pounds onboard.We climbed to ten thousand or so on this bright blue day and I settled into the nav chair to think up some relevant questions for the Captain, a steely eyed ex Voodoo pilot named Les. He was all excited about his new GPS with the VNAV function.In the right seat was Slaz, a strong and jovial young chap bursting with keen-ness.
The Captain toyed with his GPS and, as we approached what I had figured out to be the PNR, I asked him, "Where would you go now in the event of an engine failure?"
He correctly stated he would return to Yarmouth due to the headwind, and, of course his GPS. "Aha!" says I. "You cannot give me an ETA UNTIL you turn around and use your new groundspeed read-out." He knew I was right and promised to learn the PNR formula.
Then....BANG!... a backfire.
"Which engine?" I blurted out. We hadn't caught it.Then...BANG! again...I saw the guage flicker...the left engine.I scrambled over the load of squeeking live cargo and, in horror, saw oil trailing from the cowling. I ran forward only to have Les inform me that we had a chip light.
A chill crept up my spine......
Down below the spindrift streaked off the waves...I found out later that the seas were thirty feet.
"Do you mind if I assume command of the flight?"I respectfully asked Les...after all I had three engine failures in this airplane before.
Without an answer he moved to the right seat and Slaz stood between us.Les immediately called a Mayday to Boston in order to clear the airspace below as we were going down as we completed the shutdown procedure....except the engine wouldn't feather.With all trims maxed out and full aileron it was difficult to control the airplane and indeed we couldn't hold altitude.
The feather button was in and lit and yet the prop turned...it took a while to figure out..prop turning..feather pump running...****! we must have broken the crankshaft...Yes! that's it..the RPM read zero...Won't feather...never..all the oil is gone....windmilling...****!
Slaz taps me on the shoulder and points to the feather button...still running..no oil...fire danger.
Yep! The co-pilot had saved our lives for sure so I pulled the button.
Les in steely eyed fashion informs me we won't make it to any shore according to VNAV.
"Upgrade the Mayday "says I...whatever the hell that meant.
Down to eight thousand...next we see a DC10 circling us...Boston had diverted him from his trip to Germany to at least get a visual on us...EASY...we were at the leading edge of the oil slick.
Imagine what those pax thought with their noses pressed up against the glass.
A Coast Guard Falcon 20 appeared and scorched around us and the DC10 went on his way...we never did talk to him, but we were given a discreet frequency to talk to the Falcon.
I was busy flying the plane when Slaz asked if he should start throwing cargo out and this permission was quickly granted but he had to use the emergency exit.The cockpit was a busy place.Les monitoring the good engine, updating me on where we would ditch...but oh so cool."Is your airplane falling apart?" the Falcon asked as they saw stuff hitting the tail...it was boxes of lobsters.
"What can you do for me?" I asked. "We will drop you a life raft" was the answer.I struggled with the controls...200fpm down was the best I could do. I looked at the mountainous seas..."It will blow away in this wind and besides, we have a problem with ditching" says I. "I need a helicopter"
They dispatched one from Cape Cod. That is why I decided to continue straight ahead in order to close the distance as soon as possible.Four thousand....Slaz worked feveriously in back and we could hear the boxes hitting the tail..the airplane shuddered with every hit.
We had METO power on the good engine and as we descended , Les was pulling back on the power...we were still descending..."Want more power? " he asked.
It was the hardest decision in my aviation career. "No" say I, "I want to save that engine till ground effect, maybe get to shore
that way"
The seas were huge. Two thousand...
"Go back and get Slaz" says I "I want to brief on the ditching. Slaz arrives..."Half the cargo gone " he says breathlessly, eyes as big as dogs balls.
While I was briefing, Les yells, "We are levelling,****..we're gonna make it."
And make it we did...into Provincetown,Cape Cod...JUST. The capitol of the NW USA.
Another story...Wendy the Windsurfer...

A few lessons here...
Don't give up till you're licked.
Don't whine and trivialize when you haven't been there.
Lets keep our profession out of the gutter...we need each other.
I have another difficult mission ahead...and if I croak...I would like on my tombstone.....
HONOUR IS A MANS GIFT TO HIMSELF

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-05-21 18:33 ]

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Rebel


Joined: Nov 13, 2001
Posts: 565 Posted: 2003-01-22 02:33
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Wow, that's good...

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alame


Joined: Nov 16, 2001
Posts: 231 Posted: 2003-01-22 05:43
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That is THE best post on this board to date, don't just stop at this one please, there has to be more.............

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CarbIce


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 24 Posted: 2003-01-22 06:46
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A perfect story to start the day off right. Excellent post! Keep em coming.

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Snoopy


Joined: Oct 17, 2001
Posts: 431 Posted: 2003-01-22 07:07
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GREAT

[pigboat]

That you Flashey?

[Duke Elegant]

Good memory Pigboat.

We had the first Vancouver mini pprune bash last night at The Flying Beaver and Danny was there.

He remembered my story on pprune five years ago and instead of linking to Avcanada , I was advised to paste them here.(twelve pages so far)

And by the way , Pigboat, Chuck Ellsworth aka Capt Porno and Cat Driver was there with PBY/Catalina stories.

[HotDog]

If you want more of Duke Elegant, go to:http://www.avcanada.ca/forums/viewtopic.php?topic=2616&forum=1

[pigboat]

Welcome back.:ok:
Yeah, you had a few good ones, I remember. :D
Sure as hell hope everything turns out ok Duke. To quote Red Green, "I'm pullin' for ya."
Saw on another thread that Chuck was gonna be there.

[Duke Elegant]

Sadly , Vinnie died of his burns a year after the hangar fire.

I am yet to write two stories about spectacular emergencies that happened and my trusty Vinnie was on board for both.

Also, when my cancer revisited me, I had to endure eight months more chemotherapy so I am in a state of grace right now and have decided to stay close to home , close to the missus , family and grandkids.(and my sailboat)

You see folks , I have stared my maker squarely in the face twice now. Why am I not scared to die? I have packed two lives into one anyway and my stories will affirm this.

By writing of my adventures , I am living them yet again .... so bear with me.

I am only copying my stories here. I cannot abandon Avcanada.ca because they were all with me whilst I endured the chemical hell called chemo. The avcanada forum was part of my therapy.

The support has been fantastic.

I am truly blessed.

Did I not see a post that dissapeared from pigboat , asking about the engineer in the fire? And am I still flying the A26?

Its gone.

[pigboat]

Yeah Duke, I edited it. I checked the avcan board in the meantime and my question was pretty well answered.

[StbdD]

Good stuff Duke. As I read it my balls were retracting while I thought about how it feels to fly over those coolish waters. You have talent friend. Keep it up. I'll buy the book.

StbdD

[ehwatezedoing]

Duke, we are sharing some friends based at CYOW.

I heard great stories about you. To found them later on in "Avcanada" was truly amazing.
And for someone who had only couple of months left...Well...


:ok: :ooh: :ok:


I also remember a certain nom de plume HoleFlashy (spelling!?)

[Duke Elegant]

GREAT story! Thanks for sharing.
And don't forget your own advice - don't give up until you're licked.....
Best Regards,
Snoopy
_________________
the only time you can have too much fuel is if you're on fire...

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Maverick


Joined: Oct 11, 2002
Posts: 36
From: CYVK and/or CYYC
Posted: 2003-01-22 09:30
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That was probably the most intresting thread ever to be posted here...it actually made me Read on!
_________________
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The Liberal Party is a bunch of Deratives of Acceleration. So there. I want to scare ppl on the path at the end of 13 in CAH3.

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-22 12:55
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Maverick ..mmmm
Yep! Courtney Airpark...1800 feet...King Air A100...they were the days eh?
Navajo's too.
They probably wouldn't believe us.

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endless


Joined: Jan 10, 2002
Posts: 773
From: The heart of darkness
Posted: 2003-01-22 13:58
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That was indeed a good one.

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Schooner69


Joined: Oct 18, 2001
Posts: 200
From: Atlantic Canada
Posted: 2003-01-22 14:28
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Duke: one hell of a story. I'll bet there was several yards of seat cushion removed from various nether regions on the ground at Cape Cod.

Regarding the "Big C" thing: you've just reached two thousand feet; wait for the level off. You'll beat it.

God bless.

John


_________________
FixedWing, GoldWing, FlingWing..Life is good!

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-22 15:15
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Thanks for the encouragement fellow Aviators.

Here's how it works.....

WE HAVE A MAN DOWN


As I was nearing the end of my last chemo I heard that a fellow Aviator had been stricken with the Big C. He was an ex F18 fighter pilot, ex Boeing Captain and then flew Invaders. He was a collegue but we weren't particularly close buddies as we were never based together.
He had a very good Cathay medical plan and I tracked him down through his mother and phoned him at a clinic in Texas. He couldn't thank me enough as I rallied support for him through e-mail and he got lots of calls.
One day he phoned me to tell me how guilty he felt that he never supported me although I was sure he gave me some thought.
I told him I had lots of friends and that he should pass support along one day....not backwards to me..to someone who needed it.
That, my friends, is how it works.

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Glideslope


Joined: May 24, 2002
Posts: 134
From: YVR
Posted: 2003-01-22 15:49
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Well said.

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Boeing Driver


Joined: Jan 06, 2002
Posts: 140 Posted: 2003-01-22 16:19
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Best of luck Duke, Go get 'em.

Cheers!

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Rudy


Joined: Jan 04, 2003
Posts: 86
From: BC coast
Posted: 2003-01-22 17:43
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The Lobster story is a good one. Les told me about it a couple of years ago. I remember someone jokingly saying, "at least the lobsters got back to the water!" Les replied, "Yes that's true but what are they gonna do with their pinchers taped shut!" Everybody laughed.

Good luck with your battle Duke!

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Pratt


Joined: Oct 18, 2001
Posts: 239
From: YVR
Posted: 2003-01-22 19:38
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Great writing Duke, and best of luck.



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king air guy


Joined: Sep 08, 2002
Posts: 638
From: Calgary, AB
Posted: 2003-01-23 00:04
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Duke....that was one hell of a story, one for the books!!!
I think you missed another calling - author.

As for the Big "C", I wish you all the best. You have our hopes and prayers.

Cheers.

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-23 12:03
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Thanks King Air Guy...and all of you .. you all help me keep focused.

I sat down last night, fingers poised ready to share another tale but I partook a little too liberally in some "Golden Throat Charmers".

Spring 1983.

I had overstayed my visit to Australia but was still confident to get a seat on the Budworm Program. I needed the money as my many wives had shared in the booty from previous adventures.It was a six week project and big bucks. Spray pilots ,some Swiss, Americans, Chechs, poles, Aussies and South Africans to name a few.Frenchmen too. They all came to fly the TBM Avenger, a 2000HP US Navy torpedo bomber.We sprayed the whole forest of New Brunswick in formations of three at about fifty feet.In the past there had been about thirty TBM's on the job, spread out on bases with usually nine on each base.
The turns at the end of the line were like mini airshows and dangerous. Imagine pulling 17,000lbs around at 2 G's...that made the slipstream 34,000lbs....enter it and you were a smoking hole in the jungle.
I was number two to a tall, hawkfaced, old ex F104 Starfighter pilot who had an ego as big as his balls. Number three was Farrell and he was not happy with the maintainence. None of us were..hell...at a hundred bucks a trip...Shutup.
We were spraying in the hills to the North and Farrells plane was running rough. If one guy went back we all went back...."Shutup" it was hinted to him..A hundred bucks.
But he had had enough and quit leaving his plane sitting on the ramp. Frank and I were elated as we could do faster turns with two airplanes and make good dough. The competetion was brutal. Once off line we would look for another team, also calling off line and, without any calls, just push it up to METO. First team midfield on the carrier break had the right of way. We always wanted the last load of the day. It was not uncommon to duke it out in the mess shack after flying.

MORE TO FOLLOW, OVER!

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[Send Clowns]

The first story makes a point about 2nd officers and CRM I was discussing today. Just because the two in the front seats are both very experienced, there's no excuse for ignoring the junior guy as the excrement is gradually hitting the ventilation system.

Thanks Duke. This is aviation - war stories and friends. Good luck with surviving.

[Duke Elegant]

Posted: 2003-01-23 12:45
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4AM

They say the darkest hour is right before the dawn.
We would arise, not from sleep but from passing out from too many warm Moosehead and bull**** stories. A coffee helped a little but then we went to the flightline in the dark, flashlights stabbing the dark as we did half-hearted walk-arounds.
Then...there is NOTHING.....I say..NOTHING more horny than nine Avengers running up in the dark..18,000 horsepower growling..orange flames turning blue as they warmed up. The first team would move into the pits to await the dawn, when the C172 pointer planes would take of and go to the block. We had two per team. They navigated for us online and we simply lined them up.
DAWN. We launch. Frank lines up with his 625US gallons of poison and roars off, vortices trailling from the slots at the wingtips. He banks right and I am powering up already, full power..49"...52" if you need it through the gate..tail up six inches and a slight tug and she breaks free.Frank banks back for the joinup. Gear up...First power reduction....first power reduction...****!..it's stuck....accelerating...I go scorching by Frank.."Slow down" he yells. "Can't..throttle's stuck" says I.
200kts.. I turn on downwind...250Kts.
I look at the Dunphy Airstrip..3000feet. No Way!
"Go to Chatham" growls Frank calmly..."050 degrees roughly"
I set a rough course..I can't remember what the final speed was because I was focussed on the cylinder head temp along with the oil temp that had already hit redline. I trimmed nose down and left all the right rudder trim in...getting hot in here.
The big chill...it ran up my spine..
"Climb up and jump" suggested another pilot : I see some smoke"
I looked at the 'chute...US Navy 1952 ..it read.
I stayed low...if it cuaght fire I wanted to ditch..the landscape was flat but flashing by in a blur.
The US Navy manual says you can use full power for two minutes..in wartime that is.
It's now about five minutes. I'm on my own.
She's screaming..was that a puff of smoke?
I could see the base off in the distance. Frank had already looked up the frequency for me...thanks Frank.
"Chatham Tower Zebra Two inbound..I have a problem"
"Say your position" says the controller.
I have lied in the past by saying I said "DESPERATE!" It got a few laughs.
"Crossing a powerline NE bound" is all I knew.
"What is you plan?"...they have every right to know..I didn't have one.
"Left base 250knots plus" I blurt out. I don't know what he said.I wasn't listening.
I noticed a helicopter hovering at the other end of the runway.
I roll onto base.....miles out.
250 KNOTS ON FINAL


More to follow over.

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CLguy


Joined: Jul 05, 2002
Posts: 105 Posted: 2003-01-23 13:02
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Duke all the best to you! Just another walk in the park! Did you ever work with the legendary Agent Orange on the TBM's. The guy who introduced his wife, "Boys meet the Crank, Crank meet the Boys". I flew Canso's with him in the early 80's. Never a dull moment!!

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Just Curious


Joined: Nov 06, 2001
Posts: 650
From: Frozen North
Posted: 2003-01-23 13:43
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Small world...I knew the Slaz from his brief foray into the arctic, but now I know that I know you too! I've got a picture of your machine (on the ramp in YCH) downstairs in the bar. All my little air cadets got hero shots in front of it.



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[Duke Elegant]

Posted: 2003-01-23 20:14
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Good to hear a few words about working the Budworm. Spent the summer of '88 flying in the 172's watching you guys muscling those beasts around - impressive. Three accidents, 1 fatal, in the span of three months seemed a tad high but made for a most exciting summer and gave me new respect for the cowboys in the cockpits. Heard FPL got rid of the TBM's for Ag-tractors.

Looking forward to the next chapter.

Zed.

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Just Curious


Joined: Nov 06, 2001
Posts: 650
From: Frozen North
Posted: 2003-01-23 23:24
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Quote:
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JUST CURIOUS....my TBM in Miramachi?


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Yellow cheat line, orange tail...called final about 30 miles out? Yeah, your TBM!
I'll scan the picture and send it to you. I'd post it here, but that would reveal my secret identity...no wait, I was skinny and had all my hair in this, so no-one will recognize me

And Schooner, if you're talkin' Ralph Annis...You mean he flew something else besides Sabres? Didn't know he had any other kind of stories!

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-23 23:45
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Schooner69

It was Frank Gillan...from Comox.....fierce competitor!

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Posted: 2003-01-24 11:02
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250 KTS ON FINAL:

The long runway sure was coming up fast.
I had to decide where to cut the mixture.What happens WHEN I cut the mixture? I see smoke on both sides of the cockpit..puffs.WOW! Look at all those fighter jets lined up, canopies open.
NOW! I pulled the mixture....
Two thousand horsepower to zero...I wasn't prepared for what happened next. With a violent yaw, my helmet banged the side canopy..hard..my body slammed forward into my harness as the prop hissed loudly on its way to fine..She dived..****!..It was all those trims cranked in that took over.
The silence was deafening. The tongue of flame that shot down both sides of the airplane was gone.
The prop was discing lots of drag so I had to push hard on the stick...airspeed decreasing RAPIDLY...full forward...
I'm gonna be short..****!
I reach for the mixture..worth a try..slam it forward...
ZERO HORSEPOWER TO 2000 HORSEPOWER!.. In a heartbeat!.I wasn't prepared for what happened next.
The noise,incredible..with a violent yaw my helmet bangs other side of canopy .YAW..youv'e never seen anything like it...Flames along with a whole ****load of POWER.She pitches up then BAMM! She came apart...GRIIIIND! and the prop stops just as I flare over the numbers..NO ****!
I had flared high and she came down hard. I had 650US gallons of poison onboard. Even though I had MILES of runway ahead I tried jamming the brakes but my rubbery legs wouldn't work.It stopped..the clicking sound could be heard over the noise of the approaching helicopter...it was cooling down.
I grabbed my helmet and stepped out onto the wing just as everybody showed up.
Even a photographer. Well you all know how shy I am around cameras and microphones.
A van load of excited young fighter pilots came and took me to the mess for coffee. They laughed..and laughed..they had seen nothing like it in their lives. They joked that I was seen on radar..coming in low..AND FAST. Was I some sort of target?



More to follow...over.


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-24 12:04
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Well that was it for the season...or so I thought.

I thought of Frank, last seen flying slowly around my plane when I was getting out onto the wing and then droning off in the direction of Dunphy.

They flew me back to Dunphy in a Bell206 and I got to retrace my flight path over trees, small lakes and meadows.
I had decided to retain my load of chemical, remember. I got out of the helicopter with my helmet bag and maps poked into my flightsuit, to be greeted by most of the base personell. And Frank: in my ****in' face, gesturing wildly towards Farrell's plane sitting beside his still loaded TBM.

It was still cool enough to spray.

Another hundred bucks.

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[BombayDuck]

I cant put this down well, but I wish you all the best in the fight.

You're a fighter, I know that. My prayers for you.

[pigboat]

Great stuff Duke! Keep it coming. Was that still Wheeler's operation then or had the NB government taken over?
A friend of my father's was lost down there on the TBM, guy named St. Pierre. It must have been in the early 70's, cause my dad died in 1968 and it was after that.

[Duke Elegant]

pigboat

I first went to the Budworm Project in 1975 with Conair.

There were at least a dozen TBM's that came up from the US including SisQ and an outfit out of Missoula Montana. I am not sure if Wheeler was still there then.

There are more stories coming regarding "the Project" some of which are humourous and some dedicated to some fallen aviators.
Before we had the thirty-five or so Avengers , the forest was sprayed with a hundred or more Stearman planes. Can you imagine the stories that were spawned there?

Read on my friend.

The following post by Just Curious is interesting .... he saw the event.

Posted: 2003-01-24 14:20
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As all this was transpiring, a half dozen air cadets had shown up to start the summer.

As they sat out on a picnic bench beside the hangar, I gave them the flying is inherently safe speech, you know the one: checklists, appropriate clothing, practice of emergency drills until they get routine, and statistically likely nothing will ever go wrong.

It was a beautiful afternoon, the 416 squadron guys were pretty much stood down for the day, and dead quiet. Just as the droning from my speech is about to lull the kids off to sleep, the crash Klaxon starts to wail, the fire trucks roll, and the base rescue guys flash up the helicopter. Big honk'in TBM goes down the runway, still at flying speed seemingly forever... down this two mile long runway, and stops just before the highway (well, paved road, we're talking New Brunswick here!).

Got the kids attention!

The machine sat on the EPA ramp for quite a while. As the season wound down someone from FPL came up and started pulling jugs for the flight out. As it happens, METO power takes quite a bit out of engines that only run six weeks a year. Got a nice ash-tray out of that one. A piston you could stash a dozen big Cubans in.

Subsequently the kids were really aces when it came time for reviewing emergencies, so Duke, 22 years later, thanks for keeping them on their toes.

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BushDriver


Joined: Jan 24, 2003
Posts: 5
From: The Land That Time Forgot
Posted: 2003-01-24 17:44
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Duke,

You'll beat this one, just like the last, with a style and dare I say it (a grace) all your own.

Still need you here in CYPE, we'll be waiting for your return.

Our thoughts are with you and the Mrs.

Fight the Good Fight.

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[Duke Elegant]

Usually , after flying the Budworm Profect , we would fly the Avengers Westbound back across Canada to British Columbia for the rest of the fire season. The TBM Avenger , although a tough and powerful airplane, was no match for the Douglas A26 Invader.

Here is another story cut and pasted from the Avcanada thread.
(By the way, Danny Fyne suggested I do this when we met at the pprune bash in Vancouver)

Posted: 2003-01-27 20:10
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I came out of the briefing with a much clearer idea of the target.

I was impatient to go and bomb the f**k out of it.

With CHEMO that is......

Well at least the doc told me how big the tumour is....just a little ******..about an inch by an inch and a half.

At least I'm still as good looking as I tell people I am....and healthy too!

Mid Eightees...not many fires around except in the NW corner of Alberta. In fact we left High Level under low cloud to bomb some fires around Steen River.We hated Steen airstrip because it was some grass, some sand, a few holes and some horses darting around. They don't hear too many Douglas Invaders around there.

Easy bombing out in the flat country and four A26's contained the lightning strikes with ease. Orders were to return to High Level empty and hold.

NOW GET THIS!

A four thousand horsepower WW2 attack bomber, empty. A half hour to get to High Level, A HUGE ego,and a highway cleared on both sides
just enough.....

I reckon I was slow cruising at 210 knots when I pulled up and half rolled her till I was pointing straight at the ground....aligned with the highway.
Speed builds up quick in the A26 and the controls get heavy so you have to tug lots to
get her level and the three hundred fify knots bleeds off to 210.....below the tree line...she fits ..trust me.
HELL! The landscape just bluurs by on the side but looking ahead is where the thrill is. OOOOhhhhHHHHHH! At first I though it was premature ejaculation.....but it wasn't.
The props going out of sync was the first sign...then the trembling and a big yaw>Nothing makes sense..I see the left engine shows a decrease in RPM....maybe failing...maybe I can save it so I pull back on the throttle. Looks like it is feathering...can't be. I haven't touched anything.Then a big scream as the prop goes flat and the forward speed of the airplane makes it overspeed...BIGTIME!
The governer failed to catch it and might I hint that the noise of an overspeed is incredible..and then another big shudder...it seems coarser..why?
Then a whiff of smoke gets my attention. It came in through the wing root.
Another YAW and BANG>>the engine fails and leaves me to deal with it...bloody well windmilling. The drag was fantastic...all of the trims never dealt with it so I rassled it hard over.

Up out of the trees only got me into the cloud layer above me....I have a problem!



More to follow .....OVER




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phillyfan


Joined: May 08, 2002
Posts: 641 Posted: 2003-01-27 20:31
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I can't wait!!!

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bohica2000


Joined: Aug 20, 2002
Posts: 49 Posted: 2003-01-27 21:13
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keep em coming!!!!

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-28 00:50
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The United States Airforce manual for the A26 states that you need 170 MPH on final with one windmilling if you intend to put the gear down.

Anyhow, I'm scorching down the highway low level scud running just above the highway.... all trims maxed out and still have to use most of the aileron into the discing prop.
I didn't want to do much turning this close to the ground so I elected to approach and land straight in. The quatering 20 knot tailwind never helped neither.

I braked the Invader heavilly and noticed out of the left side canopy that the prop was stopped.

"Well" thinks I, "no big deal..probably my third engine failure in a Twenty Six."

It's what happened three days later that pissed me off. The engineers had found that the left prop decided on it's own to go into feather and they showed me the feathering solenoid that had welded itself shut and ran the feathering pump till it burned out. I had mistaken the reducing RPM for an engine failure and what convinced me most was the shuddering as the pump worked hard against cruise power. I am lucky it never caught fire but the paint had cooked off. The engine came out of feather and it oversped and blew up OK? This had never happened to anybody before that we knew over fifteen years.

So anyhow, we were coming out to base three days later when Bhudda, the group manager, came up with the answer. "Why didn't you shut off the master switch therby isol...."..."
That's about all he got out. I was on him like ugly on an ape.

There are lots of times when things go for a **** and you are on your own. If you don't know what you are dealing with its harder to come up with a solution and then take the appropriate action.

I guess I was mad at him because I had come up with the solution already.



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Howey


Joined: Jan 19, 2003
Posts: 8
From: NWO
Posted: 2003-01-28 06:44
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Awesome stories!! Keep em coming.

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operator


Joined: Jan 29, 2003
Posts: 1 Posted: 2003-01-29 00:28
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Duke - you're ****in' best !
keep 'em stories coming, the whole crew down here in Africa loves them and loves you.

We know that if anybody is gonna kick the **** out of this 'c' thing its gonna be you.

Cheers, mate



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a300guy


Joined: Sep 30, 2002
Posts: 81 Posted: 2003-01-29 08:09
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Maybe the "Johnny-come-lately" with all the answers didn't know his systems very well. If the A-26 is like the DC-3, the feathering pumps are connected directly to the batteries. No circuit breakers, not connected through the master switch at all. Just hot wired directly to the batteries. If the feathering button welds closed the only way to stop a feathering pump is to land and disconnect the batteries! Or wait for the feathering pump to burn out!

Great stories!

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-01-29 11:59
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a300 Guy.

The twenty six is only slightly different.

We found out later that the fx pump doesn't go through the master switch . You have to turn off the generators. WHOODA THOUGHT?
(Scud running down the road with lots of loud **** goin' on...and I hadn't touched the button)
Then, how the hell do I get the electric flaps down?
Try doing a flapless in a twenty six one day.
Nose high and slightly faster. We practised them all the time in the spring for the ride.
But not with one windmilling in **** weather.




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[Duke Elegant]

casacopilot


Joined: Feb 02, 2003
Posts: 1
From: Morocco
Posted: 2003-02-02 04:40
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keep them coming
keep fighting

Aviation needs more people like you!
It would be nice to here a couple more of them over some beers again someday!

the crew here in morocco all wish you success in your fight!


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-02-02 13:18
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G'DAY MOROCCO!!

I like the title of "co-pilot".

I prefer it over "First officer".

"Co-pilot" exudes more of an inference that there are TWO pilots in the cockpit...and that we are all in this together.

Tuesday should be an interesting day.
I think I am going to hand my licence over to my family doctor for safekeeping. I have to focus. The last time I was sick with surgery and chemo, I smoked doobies.
When I was 130lbs and had no appetite after surgery....just didn't want to eat...scary ****!
My wife and family doctor suggested Guiness dark beer. So I sat around the pool under a tree and drank....then I was handed a doobie..Stand back....munchies yeaaaah!I was like a Tazmanian Devil.
After chemo I was 170 lbs and went to Iowa and Denver to re-erect two log homes so I was already clean crossing the border into the US. I was clean when I got my medical back, albeit, a restricted medical where I was required to have a co-pilot.
I intend to self medicate again, probably Tuesday night.

FEB 11 I am booked for a CT Scan and a biopsy done with a LOOONG thin needle. I hope I don't start laughing whilst thinking of the Baffin Island Yacht.

"CAUGHT UP IN THE MOMENT"...four months ago..

A confession to Transport Canada.

It was always pleasant to show up at the coffee shop every Saturday morning, you know, a few lies and oft repeated tales of daring-do. A sunny day it was. My friend Dave and I strolled the ramp recalling the days when gas was cheap and so was his Harvard Mk2. Snarling loops, rolls and cuban eights.
We looked at his friend's sleek Lancair...one day thinks I.
Across to the big hangar where Dave keeps his single seat Pitts ...and up come the doors. It had a thin layer of hangar dust. Hell they're small...tailwheel as big as a hockey puck. It had a narrow stance and a powerful little snout on 'er. You can't blame Dave... he is always late getting home on a Saturday but he wants to go.. and go now. We rinse the little slut off and Dave briefs me on the three separate harnesses,parachute icluded, how to wobble pump,and one important point.
A light small battery is all she has and REALLY high compression. You only get one shot at the start...The prop comes up hard on the compression and she just gets through .
She shakes like a dog shedding water and then smooths out.
Off he goes weaving down the taxiway. Zero vis in the Pitts.
He rolls her ever so slow after take off.Beautiful... It has a fully inverted system.
I watched from afar as he yanked and banked and had a good time.
Here he comes weaving back to the hangar.
He jumps out and shouts, "Take 'er up!"
I cannot believe it. Sixty grand...un-insurable...cranky little slut on the ground and a hard ridin' whore in the air.
He straps me in and here I am weaving off down the ramp, yanking on a cable to unlock the tailwheel.
I had pointed at the windsock as I was getting in, "a crosswind" says I.Was I looking for a way out?
He laughed at me. " You won't even notice the crosswind because of all the other trouble you'll have. You'll be airborne before you get half power on..but then, don't slam the power on or she'll torque roll on ya." ...

I am about to go aviating...

More to follow, over.








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Zatopec


Joined: Jan 26, 2002
Posts: 277
From: Hyperspace
Posted: 2003-02-03 07:04
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Casacopilot, check your PM's.

Thanks,

Zatopec

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Brian


Joined: Nov 22, 2001
Posts: 722
From: From: From: ^C
Posted: 2003-02-03 09:16
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Wow - great war stories.

My only objection is the characterization of a Pitts in the air.

When the tires are on the pavement, it can indeed be quite unforgiving, and a Pitts landing can be mindblowing to a pilot who has only previously flown nosewheel aircraft

But in the air, it is sweet and light on the stick, and actually very simple to fly aerobatics in, far easier than the lower-performance aerobatic trainers.

Keep the stories coming, and I've got my fingers crossed for remission.

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Flashman


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 28 Posted: 2003-02-03 11:56
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BRIAN

You have to ride them hard, lad. Legend has it that the Duke has been astride the odd mount at full gallop.
DUKE, do you remember RENO AIR RACES 1978 I think? There were Mustangs roaring around at fifty feet during the day and mustangs out at the ranch at night.


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 259 Posted: 2003-02-04 11:43
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Just like the man said.... she leapt into the air way before I got to full power. My overcontrolling on the stick and rudder made her twitch as she rocketed up...thousands of feet per minute. It had only an Airspeed indicator and turn and slip. The ball banged from side to side as I got used to the rudder...it's only a couple of feet behind your head.

Rolls were a blistering thought.

She'd snarl her way around consecutive loops but always wanted to go up. I wobbled off the top of a few upward rolls and partook in a few push-overs...you gotta love these inverted systems eh?

She wanted to do it in many different positions. MMMMMMM.....OOOooooh..

I rode her at full gallop, Flashman.

One thing's for sure, flight into cloud would mostly result an exit out the bottom doing Lomchevacs.

I decided to land before I spewed...but waited cunningly for the circuit to be free of spectators...I had to land her. A curved 100 knot approach with a side slip final works best, bleeding back to eighty....back..back..nose going higher..can't see ****! Take a peek out the side...feel for the ground..is she straight?.
Take a peek through the window in the floor...BAD IDEA.
All I saw was the centre line flashing from side to side....
I squeeked her on.

Man what a ride...I got out and I've been talking about it ever since.

An hour later, a cold chill came over me..I had a restricted licence...****! I'd broken the law. I lapsed into depression and I felt I was adrift in a sea of despair....only to be saved by a few Golden Throat Charmers..
mmmmmm like an angel crying on your tongue.

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[pigboat]

Thanks for sharing the great stories Duke.
I've tried and tried to get some of the guys I knew from this neck of the woods to put their experiences on paper, guys like Mike B, Lloyd H, Wilf A, Phil L. Sadly they're no longer around, and all the great tales have been lost. Phil flew the Norseman all one spring on skis with one foot in a cast, or the time he salvaged a DC-4 off the ice cap and flew it back to Frobe by himself. Mike doing a trip from Mont-Joli to Frobe with the co-pilot locked out of the cockpit. This was the days before CRM, I guess.;) Mike and Wilf checking each other on the C-46 because each thought the other was the check pilot. When Lloyd began flying up in Ungava, the two most prominent features on the sectionals were "unmapped' and "elevation unknown." All that stuff is lost forever, which makes what you're doing so very important.

Wheeler was before your time in NB, I guess. They got out of the budworm business about 1970, I believe. They had the flock of Stearmen, about a hundred machines or so, and a dozen or so TBM's. The guy in charge of the operation was George Moore.

[Duke Elegant]

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<


I am cautiously proud of the support given to the US by Australia for the purpose of ridding the world of an arsehole.

A little history.

The US clearly saved Australia from being over-run by the Japs in WW2. I had some uncles die fighting on the Kokoda Trail prior to taking Port Moresby ..... Australia was on the horizon and soon to be under the "Rising Sun".

I, nor my brother knew that we had been abandoned by our mother at around two years old. We didn't know because we were being raised by my Grandmother who we called Mum. A stranger visited occasionaly who I later got to call Dad, but I didn't know why.

One morning, before dawn we were awoken and with bags packed we were off to the Railway Station where I was fascinated by the "live" steam train that was to take us on a two day trip North to live with my Dad and new stepmother. We were black from coaldust and tried sleeping on a hard leather bench. A soldier came aboard and upon seeing our discomfort, put his great - coat on the luggage rack and made a bed for us. It was comfortable and cozy , he was my hero.
Arrival up North was not a pleasant affair. My new stepmother greeted us with a look on her face that looked like someone was holding a dog turd under her nose. I knew we were not welcome. I found out that my Grandmother was ill and was soon to die. It was a sad day. And then things got worse. My brother died while getting his tonsils out.

So off to boarding school for me ..... turned out to be a pleasant experience even though we had to go to Chapel every day and we wore uniforms. The Brotherhood of St Barnabas. We were nearly self sufficient with our small dairy and hog pens.We had about six horses and we all learned to ride. We rotated through a roster of milker , hog slopper, choir and the most hated, that of server. We had to dress up in little frilly gowns and gong a bloody bell at the appropriate time during the latin moaning of the monks.
Boy Scouts was a hoot as they trucked us to Magnetic Island where we had a bay to ourselves. Fishing, surfing, war games ...life was fun and I had a lot of friends.
For school holidays, I would talk someone into taking me home with them ... I hated my home.
So I got to go stay on cattle and sheep ranches and hunting and adventure.
I was also at the top of the class in Grade Ten. Another bombshell. My Dad couldn't afford more boarding school but had arranged a job for me in a bank. Well ! ****! How long do you think I lasted there...coming to work with black eyes from Rugby and floozies phoning all the time and stalking my gorgeous frame.
I find out now that my Dad is putting himself through Med School.... I'm on my own.
So here I am in the Army. I was bartering my own judgement for the pleasure of being surrounded by comrades.I graduated as a second Lieutenant and while all the graduates had their rank pinned on at the Gala ball, usually by girlfriend, wife or mother, I was pinned by a floozie.

The war in Vietnam had taken some dangerous turns and was not going well for the US and we knew it. Australia wanted out and it took a change of government to do it, but it was a slow process. We were now bored and we flew so seldom that we usually went a little crazy given the oppurtunity. We were the masters of low flying, especially at night. These dangerous tactics were never used in combat.

I had the old One Eighty flat out as I skimmed the surface of the Hawksbury River. I approached Dangar Island so time to pull up...and I did. WHAP!WHAP! Also a spongy jolt that nearly put me through the winshield... SPARKS...it lurched drunkenly as I struggled for control....it was still flying so I struggled back to base. The prop had hit one wire and then it burned a scar under the fuselage, another wire had hit the tire and slid up the strut before breaking and the third took the top of the tail off.
I had a feeling there would be some paperwork coming my way.



More to follow....over


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 260 Posted: 2003-04-12 18:41
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COURT MARTIAL

Other pilots had had similar infractions and the punishment usually consisted of a loss of seniority. That's pretty savage when you are already at the bottom of the officer ranks with a war shutting down.

I could have legal council but I opted for an Army Lawyer who stunk of gin and whose eyes were way too close together. He was a moron....perfect.

I was marched in by Lt Tub Matheson and I laid my sword on the table in front of two majors, two colonels and a General, The Judge Advocate General in fact. They all had the big red noses earned by years of Army service.

I recognized one of the colonels ... The Beekeeper we called him. He could often be seen crouching on the lawn with a magnifying glass bleating "It's one of mine... one of mine." He raised bees. He was ugly too. His ears looked like wingnuts and I had seen better hair on bacon.
I stood ramrod straight at attention in all my splendour.

"Wootenant, you have been charged with conduct contoowary to good order and militawy discipwin..in that you wied in the wogbook of your aircwaft ... birdstwike you say...pweposterous suh, how do you pweed, suh?
Tub knew it was coming and out of the corner of my eye I caught his wry smile. I paused..then
Says I
"Well you see sir, this little bird was sitting in this power line , see ..."
Some officers had trouble choking back but the beekeeper was furious.. it was known I had done impressions of him at the mess much to everyones delight.

You, suh, are to be dismissed from the Armed Forces .... and so on.
It turned out that they accepted my resignation so I got all my pension back with which I bought a Jaguar and went surfing and mowing lawns for a year.
I was yet to embark on an adventure of a lifetime.

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Howlin' Mad Murdock


Joined: Apr 03, 2003
Posts: 4
From: hell and back again...
Posted: 2003-04-13 02:17
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Duke - thankyou. Thankyou for inspiring us, entertaining us, and reminding us of the savage beauty of life. You have a wonderful way of weaving a story that makes this thread my personal favorite. I salute you for your courage, and admire that in the face af adversity you have chosen not only to overcome it, but to do so smiling - sharing with us some very personal stories of better or at least crazier days.
I hope that as you take these trips down memory lane, it gives you the inspiration, the energy, and the great big smile that you bring to all of us who admire you so.
Once you're back up to full speed, which I pray is soon, I want to be the first to place an order for the book you're going to write.

In the words of another great man, Winston Churchill: "If you're going through hell... keep going."

Godspeed, Duke.


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182driver


Joined: Jul 14, 2002
Posts: 73 Posted: 2003-04-13 05:43
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Mmmmmmm....Floozies.

I enjoy your stories Duke, and wish you all the best. I laughed out loud at the description of your grandma with a turd under her nose, and smiled when you spoke of your gorgeous frame. Does that make me a poof? No, of course not.



<

[ This Message was edited by: 182driver on 2003-04-13 05:59 ]

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[ExSimGuy]

Duke

Is there going to be a book? If there isn't there should be!

Very best of luck with the "remission" - hope and pray it's permanent (to give you time to write the book :D )

Here's my cred card number to order first (hand-signed!) edition. It would rapidly join the few really classics written by aviators.

Exxy

[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-04-13 16:03
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Right now I am on a good week ... free from the chemical warfare being exacted on my body and mind. It was hell ..... three down, nine more to go.

BUDWORM

A surealistic experience.

The Budworm Project was one of the most exciting , well paid, dangerous projects one could participate in.

Imagine thirty five TBM Avengers scorching all over New Brunswick operating from camps that at times became cesspools of lies and tales of daring-doo.

We sat around on our bunkbeds in the rain, huddled about the diesel heater .... muddy floors.. warm Moosehead .... and stories.
There were Swiss, Hungarians, South Africans , New Zealanders, Aussies and Americans.
There was this large jolly chap from Montana who wore glasses over his contacts .... and he was the leader of Donkey Team. Ray was famous from last years adventure in that he came to the end of the spray line at Oromocto Lake and went into the steep turn over the glassy lake and boofed a wingtip... ker-****in'-splash he belly's her in.
Ray isn't much of a swimmer so he strikes out for shore.... get away from the plane because the US NAVY says a TBM stays afloat for two minutes...maybe...
Well as the pointer planes circled overhead Ray was seen sinking ....didn't look like he would make it... till his feet touched and he stood up. He was only in four feet of water and the TBM sat there half dry... **** we laughed... Then Bill Demming decided to tell us of his first flight in the TBM.
It's two thousand horsepower you know ... lots of torque on take off..tailwheel up and you get a big swing requiring huge amounts of right boot.

Bill

Weeell ! Ah guess it was mah turn for take off.
I went through the checklist by memory because the last I saw of the checklist it dissapeared into the oily bowells of the big TBM... can't be reached.

The strip was short so I layed the power to her real quick , like, she veered to the left but shoulda stayed straight coz the tailwheel shoulda been locked... ****! shoulda...wasn't.
I reached down and locked the tailwheel but I had to let go the throttle and she bled back now the swing is the other way... shoulda tightened the friction, I guess.
By now I took out a coupla cone markers and with full application of power I was hurtling to the other side of the runway... coupla cones maybe ...it was wild
The end of the strip is coming fast... maybe abort.... maybe go...so I go and lift her off too early and the tail smacks down as she stalled back hard .. through the fence I went.......... THEN I LOST CONTROL OF THE AIRCRAFT!!!!!!!!!! says Bill

**** we laughed......

Many more of those to go.



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endless


Joined: Jan 10, 2002
Posts: 775
From: nuclear winter
Posted: 2003-04-13 16:40
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"then i lost control of the aircraft"

that line is truly priceless.

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Zatopec


Joined: Jan 26, 2002
Posts: 278
From: Hyperspace
Posted: 2003-04-13 20:51
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HAHAHAHAHA!!!!

More, more, more!!!!
_________________
Sometimes you're the bug, sometimes you're the windshield.

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Sawmill Broad


Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 6 Posted: 2003-04-14 10:01
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Way too funny! More please!

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-04-14 11:22
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Well folks , today I feel normal ....

If there is one point I'd like to make , it's this >>>>

To feel normal is utterly divine.

Even though my hair is three quarters gone and my head is as red as a baboon's arse , I am still prettier than most of you. I also have to blow dry me arseh*le ... tender or what?

The next story is amazing in that there is no cliff hanger ending .... or is there?

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Sawmill Broad


Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 6 Posted: 2003-04-14 18:53
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To be able to say you're feeling normal at any point during chemo is pretty divine for sure! The hair loss thing/sore head is a drag but I guess if you're prettier than the rest of us.... no worries eh? At least if you're feeling better you'll get busy and write more.....

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skybomb


Joined: Apr 16, 2003
Posts: 6 Posted: 2003-04-16 22:21
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Duke,

These stories are awesome! I laughed, I cried, I generally just ****e my pants. As a student pilot I was told by a good friend to always treat an airplane like a lady so that when you have to ask her for something she will oblige. Someday I will one day graduate to flying whores (who like to do it many different positions). Thank you for the inspiration! And I’ll be in line when you are doing a book signing at chapters!!!




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Beaver Driver


Joined: Oct 17, 2001
Posts: 80
From: Sask
Posted: 2003-04-20 03:56
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Hey Duke.

I seem to remember way back on this string you mentioned the sound of ten Avengers (20 000 HP) warming up on the ramp being the best sound ever. Well I've never herd that, but 4 CL 215's (16 000 HP) sounds pretty sweet too.

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[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-04-22 21:31
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Tomorrow I am on the Bullet Train to Hell.

Chemo .... #4

At least today I get to reflect on a life that I would not trade or change for anything...... I made a lot of mistakes .... you are yet to read of them .... spectacular mistakes.... but ALL have a lesson.

THE CHOOK CAPER
The Viet Nam war was over for Australia ... we had pulled out.... pilots everywhere .. no jobs.

I tired of life on the beach. Mowing lawns till 1PM for some scratch, surf till dusk then off to the surf bar to pick up glasses till closing for about three bucks an hour. The benefit was you got to scope out a floozie where, after a little horizontal refreshment, one got a shower and maybe some laundry done. Chauvinism was alive and well back then.
I was lucky that my cousin was a Bristol Freighter captain so I got a job as a swamper. We flew drill equipment to the Gulf country, racehorses to Melbourne, strawberries to Sydney, and my favourite job, flying huge prawns from the Gulf to Cairns , twenty four hours a day. The prawns came ashore from the trawlers in WW2 army amphibous vehicles called "ducks". They came out of the water and drove straight to the airport that had NO facilities. Supper! I took a garbage can lid and drained some salted bilgewater into it and lit a fire.... boiled prawns as big as yer fist.
I was waiting for the job on the Turbo Aztec doing air photo survey in New Guinea. I was a shoe in as I had Photo experience in the Army and had been to New Guinea before.
I finally got the job and flew to New Guinea in the Aztec.I got real good at it...climbing to 210 over unbelievable beautiful country.We took off at dawn and climbing out we would see the native grass huts along the 5000 foot ridges and they all looked like they were on fire as smoke seeped through the grass roofs but we learned later that they burned pig **** all night to keep the mossies away. The other company airplane in the highland town of Goroka was a turbo B56 Baron . Picture this! Two 385hp Beach Duke engines on a Baron fuselage. ****! It climbed like a Mustang. HOOOOOWEEEEE!
One day, an engineer was trouble shooting a wing tank mounted fuel pump...tanks dry... switch on.... ka-ferkin' BOOM. Blew the wing off. That pilot, senior to me, grabbed my plane and I was pooched. Again!
Fortunately, I had charmed the local Australian entrepanuers some of whom owned coffee plantations, native trade stores, butcher shops, hotel managers. I felt that I fit in here but no bloody job.
A young bloke called Peter Miller had a C182 and a private licence and owned trade stores, thirty coffee buying trucks, butcher shop and wholesale seafood business. He supplied seafood to the big tourist hotels but couldn't get enough as there were no roads to the coast.
I awoke from a brutal hangover that would have felled an ox, to Peters' wife splashing water on me to get up for my first flight. ****! I musta got a job last night.

More to follow...over.

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[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-04-22 23:22
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I was in Paradise.

Everybody had tons of loot.... and loot they did.
We all drove tax free Alpha Romeos, Mercedes and all imports. Plantation life .... nothing like it. I had a houseboy who called me Masta even when I begged him not to. If you didn't have a houseboy you couldn't get through your front gate.... " Masta... me like wok. Me Catholic.". Perhaps twenty boys every day, wanting work. Six bucks a week.... you got tea in bed, laundry and a clean house for that.
And the flying.....divine and dangerous. We lived at five thousand ASL and flew to strips as high as eight thousand.. spectacular gorges and waterfalls that never reached the ground.
We were rich. Coffee was at a high price due to the frost in Brazil. We would fly to a place like Karimui, a strip carved on the side of a volcano. It was a leper colony but the type where it was not contageous. They got it from eating human flesh and developed a disease called Grilly.
There was only one white guy there and he was a patrol officer. ie Judge, lawyer, doctor , administrator etc. armed too and had some barefoot native constables.
We would walk fifteen minutes through the jungle to the trade store with the boys carrying the cargo where we wouild do a stock check then take the cash to the airport. There, the natives would have bought their coffee for us to buy and fly out, heavilly laden with a cash crop and bags of loot.
We upgraded to and old Aztec VH-BPW. I was **** and I dressed the part. Khaki duds and shirt and elastic sided Aussie riding boots.
I flew to Lae for maintainence and went to the flying club. New Guinea was a pilots heaven.... hardly any roads and lots of airstrips. Cessna 402's, Barons, Twotters, 206's, Islanders and 185's.
The airline guys had fun too, flying F27's VFR into uphill strips at six thousand feet ASL.
And me in my scabby old Aztec.
So I got invited to the TAA Airline mess where stewardess, called hosties back then, were housed in little tropical bungalows with a pool and a bar. I traded tales of daring do for some tropical romping in Paradise.We rode hard back in those days... at full gallop!
I flew lobsters, croc skins, artifacts, calves, coffee, trade goods and people on wild adventures.
Once we chartered a DC3, put a jazz band aboard and took a pod of hosties to the Kar Kar Ball on a coffee plantation on a tropical isle. Lots of loot, fast cars, babes and oft painful
penicillan shots.
One day I was approaced by a bloke called "Fred".
"Do you do 'jobs'? " he asked... I sensed it would be .
"Well maybe" says I, "What is the cargo?"
"Can't say" says he. "**** off" says I.
" I heard you're the bloke who did the dog charters." He had me dead to rights. Indeed I had. You see independance was coming so a lot of whites were planning to leave. Usually they had pet dogs and these weren't allowed into Australia until they had served six months quarantine in another country...expensive eh? (You see Australia was rabies free).And is little Fluffy going to remember you after six months in England.
So I would wait till about six expatriates
got six muts together and I would fly low across the straits to Cape York where another C402 awaited the awakening cargo. I had one awake from his induced sleep and he started to howl as I gave a false position report on HF so all New Guinea heard it. In the mess , I couldn't keep my mouth shut as I told these tales and my plane became known as Bravo Papa Woof . People were rich and paid big bucks.
So Fred knew I was imaginative.
We parried back and forth and I held my ground. I had to know what the cargo
was and that was that.No drugs...NO BLOODY WAY!
After a pause he said, "Chicken Eggs".
I howled as I walked away.
"Wait!" he said as he followed, "I'll prove it"
He told me an amazing story.
I WAS IN!

More to follow....over

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-04-22 23:30 ]

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-04-23 01:44 ]

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-04-23 01:39
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Fred was an executive with Mother's Choice Chickens. Mother's Choice used to be Australia's #1 supplier of chooks.
They were now #3.
Scientists in the US had engineereed a chook that ate less and grew fat at twice the rate of normal chooks.
Australia had VERY strict quarantine laws .. I had run out of muts to smuggle ... so now it was to be eggs?
I asked Fred how the competetion had got eggs in from the US.
"Same way we plan to do it" says he. If we don't do it we are sunk.
I sensed an oppurtunity to get a free trip to OZ. "I want to see the plant" say I, "just to
be sure."
They flew me to Sydney and put me up in s Cross at a fine hotel with an expense account. I toured the factory and was convinced that I was their man although it was hard to drag me away from the floozies I had stabled. Hard I rode....Hard!
Back in New Guinea, I had a plan to formulate. I had to set up fuel caches, come up with a dummy flight plan and fly low ... bloody low ... to get into Northern Australia and land at an abandoned WW2 airstrip. You could not fly anywhere in New Guinea without full radio reporting on HF so I had all my fake calls rehearsed.
The coast of Australia is very well patrolled to catch Asian fishermen, bird smugglers taking thousands of parrots offshore and they had military reasons to patrol. They used Nomads and the chief pilot was none other than my cousin. He knew of my mercenary lifestyle and had heard of Bravo Papa Woof, dog charters.
It was risky. The eggs had a mere seventeen days to get from the USA to incubators in Oz. Mother's choice bought a high speed offshore cruiser to be skippered by a friend of mine and after the "job" he was to keep the boat.
He was to go from New Caledonia to Rennel Island where I was to land on the grassy strip and fill the Aztec up with chook eggs.I went down to Guadacanal in the Aztec with a large wad of cash and played the role of a rich dude cruising WW2 battlefields. My biggest mistake was getting hooked with a hostie who wanted to come along for a ride.... a babe too...had to turn her down.
I got a coded telegram....it was time. I flew across the ocean to tiny Rennel Island where I got mobbed by the local children from the Catholic mission....and a priest asking "What are you doing here?" I left and flew out over the ocean looking for the boat that should be half a day out. No boat. I flew back to Guadacanal and phoned Fred. Apparently the boat lost an engine out of Noumea and they returned and threw the eggs at a cliff face muttering .."One thousand, two thousand" that was the price per egg so far.
I got to relax in Guadacanal until another whole shipment was arranged. I got a change of hostie every night as I lay about the pool. I also came up with a bull**** story for the priest that we were going to populate another island with great chooks and could he get help with the loading. So when the boat arrived, the priest and his boys packed the load for me so I dropped a wad for their trouble and fled.
I flew four hours to my fuel stash at Baimuru all the while muttering on the radio that I was in the circuit at Karimui and off to Chimbu. I fuelled at this unbelievable place, the subject of another chapter. It was monsoon season so low flying was the norm. But there seemed to be unusual Nomad traffic in the North. I heard it on HF.****! My cousin was on to me, thinks I. I had to somehow cross the strait at Thursday Island and pretend I was going somewhere else. I hoped they weren't staked out at Iron Range, my abandoned airstrip where a Cessna 414 awaited me... flown by another out of work ex Army Pilot.
I approached the straits..low..it rained hard.. sure enough, a Nomad slowly loitering.
I had to think fast. I went up into the green CB and the rain pounded ....deafening...the plane leaked and shook like crazy in the turbulence....I gunned her using valuable fuel... I didn't have any on the mainland... I had to get back to Daru in New Guinea.
I timed it so I flew in cloud above the Nomad and then I broke cloud and headed back to New Guinea...180 degree turn .. he saw me and gave chase. He thought I was smuggling **** North to New Guinea. As soon as he was on my tail I upped her
into the **** and rain and did another 180 heading back to OZ. I flew in the thunderous green murk till I felt out of his vis range and cloud broke again.
On to Iron Range where my mate nervously awaited... he didn't have a reason to be on an abandoned strip in a 414 now full of chook eggs. I was empty now and took off for Daru where I landed on fumes. I filled full of fuel and took on 1500lbs of lobster tails and flew it to Goroka and made another coupla grand.
The old Aztec's engines were tired, the gear kept drooping and she needed care.It stunk of croc skins, fish, sharkmeat and calf ****. Independance was looming and it didn't look good for whites. The Feds were onto me. I had a huge wad of cash and an airline ticket around the world.
Often while I lay on a hot tropical beach, I would fantasize about Green evergreens, snow capped mountains, canoes, log cabins.
So off to Canada I went.
Built a log house too.

I will not be mentioned at the annual general meeting of Mother's Choice Chickens who regained their #1 position in the market.

But I was rewarded hansomely.

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endless


Joined: Jan 10, 2002
Posts: 782
From: nuclear winter
Posted: 2003-04-23 19:10
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god i hope you're writing a book right now.

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aileron


Joined: Apr 27, 2003
Posts: 17
From: North unless you're norther...
Posted: 2003-04-27 23:17
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All the best with treatment #4 Duke.
I just want to say all of us [coworkers] enjoy your stories, and we hope to hear more. Put up the good fight, it's worth it - you have alot of fans pulling for you. I want to second endless's comment: "God I hope you're writing a book"; never the less, keep posting here (we don't have to wait for the book release ).

[ This Message was edited by: aileron on 2003-04-27 23:17 ]

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Sulako


Joined: Oct 19, 2001
Posts: 307 Posted: 2003-04-28 06:56
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Duke, I take my hat off to you. You really know how to describe and convey those stories in a manner that makes me feel like I'm sitting beside you in the cockpit (in the right seat, of course )

It's equally amazing that you are fighting through a tough time, yet through your stories, you enrich the lives of fellow aviation buffs. Thanks again, and if I ever meet you in person, the beers and stogies are on me. Take care.



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Sugar Shack


Joined: Apr 30, 2003
Posts: 1
From: Jennifer Paris - Iowa
Posted: 2003-04-30 13:42
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Les,

Your stories are more than great! I feel special that I was able to listen to some of these stories in person. As you Canadian’s say… “It’s a hoot!” Your energy for life is so incredible… you are incredible!

Enjoyed cheap kangaroo wine and built a dream come true…. Thanks!


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 262 Posted: 2003-05-06 00:16
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Ya Know....

You gotta milk this cancer thing for everything it's worth......

I got two phone calls..... "get yer arse down to the airport"b...says Crowe..."seeya at noon" says Mark....
and some other dude...

Three Yaks show up for lunch.... I had a beer with lunch...

Then up for some aeros... loops...rolls..
in a sweet , sweet airplane....




**** I'm lucky!

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DIK & DOG


Joined: Apr 06, 2003
Posts: 3 Posted: 2003-05-06 18:06
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Hey Duke, remember that luck does not just happen, it is made. Reminds me of a statement that someone once told me.

YOU START OFF WITH A BAG FULL OF LUCK AND AN EMPTY BAG OF EXPERIENCE

THE TRICK IS TO END UP WITH A FULL BAG OF EXPERIENCE BEFORE YOUR BAG OF LUCK IS EMPTY

Think I'll have beer with you as I wait for the YQF snow to terminate.

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[Smedley]

Excellent thread. Thanks

[Duke Elegant]

I would like to point out that the poster DIK & DOG , just two posts ago , is none other than the Captain that I was checking on a flight that was to become the unforgettable "Flying Lobster" thread in the first place.

His advice is immeasurable as it comes from experience.
He is a very talented , yet humble man.

[the wizard of auz]

Back to the top.
Good luck with the fight, Duke.

[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 261 Posted: 2003-05-07 21:12
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BOMBER MOON

4AM

The smell of five tons of pine mushrooms was not unpleasant.. sort of musty...... made even more musty by the 100% humidity as the heavy rain beat mercilessly on the fuselage. The rain bounced on the tarmac as the retreating vehicles splashed away through the gate having entrusted their precious cargo to us. We had been hand loading the crates for an hour and a half and now we had to herc strap them down ... a difficult task as we bulked out and there was no room to move. We had a sort of tunnel left to get to the cockpit.

It wasn't the 5AM deadline that made me tense because we were on schedule. ICE!....A chill coursed through my blood ... then gone.

I heard the cargo door thump shut as I climbed wearily into the left seat. The rotating shaft of light atop the tower stabbed through the heavy wet night. Man, just look at the size of those raindrops... It's only four degrees.
ICE! Where will it be tonight, two thousand, four thousand?

"She'll be right mate," thinks I. "We'll punch up through it and cruise along bathed in the light of the bomber moon."

"Yeah! Right," grunts Rob .. had he read my mind? I realized I was mumbling....

Punch up through it indeed . It was going to be a struggle coaxing the maxed out airplane to altitude... outbound on the localizer ... steep mountains on both sides. And blacker than the inside of a dog's guts.And a climb gradient to meet too. If we lost an engine, and that was happening with monotonous regularity lately, we'd have to turn back in a tight valley and "land in this ****" thinks I.

"And all loaded up with *****in' ice too," says Rob. I'd been mumblin' again.

The engines of the C117 shook then rumbled into life after pissing the appropriate amount of fuel and oil onto the tarmac and while Rob jotted down our clearance I taxied the airplane with my nose pressed up against the glass as the wipers slapped uselessly back and forth.The engine run-up and pre take off checks were done slowly and deliberately as if we were buying just a little more time."Delta Oscar Golf lining up for take off," Rob calmly spoke into the mike .. but tense he was.

I used differential brakes and throttles to line up with the few stripes that were visible.... four or five stripes ... and darkness... and rain.

I thought of my ex... the kids .. Why now you fool? .. Think ICE my friend.
The briefing was by the book .... but were we listening... we knew we were shooting from the hip here.
Slowly, full power, right rudder for the yaw and start forward pressure to get the tail up where maybe we can see better. See what?! Darkness and a few stripes. I skillfully used the curvature of the earth to get the beast airborne and ..."positive rate" "Gear up" We know there is a hill off the end of the runway in Terrace .

She growled her way up to two thousand... no ice..three thousand.. none. Rain diminishing but horizontal snow pierced the ice lights.Slush. "Carb heat, Rob," but he was already there. We droned on heavilly.
In a heartbeat there was ice everywhere except the heated windshield. It drooled back from the boots. We punched it off the wings but it was all over the nose, and inboard of the engines..... the prop spinners...under the wings... she sagged. It built up in wierd castles behind the boots, like stall strips.

Sometimes you just gotta wonder....what the fu*k am I doing here? Money> Oh, I almost forgot... I wanted them little Nips to get their mushroom feed at sixty bucks a plate.That's wot!

She just isn't climbing... but I can't raise the nose because I don't want any under the wings....****!

A glow appeared... big, orange and round ...furry at first and then it exploded into clarity... a bomber moon.... peaceful... we scooted along for a while... a few feet above the cottony silver bathed undercast....
AAAAAHHH! Life is good. A warm cockpit and the rumbling orgasmic vibration of cruise power....grins all around.... cold sandwiches and coffee.

More to follow... over!



[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-05-07 21:18 ]

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Linecrew


Joined: Jan 02, 2003
Posts: 60
From: Canada
Posted: 2003-05-08 08:18
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C-GDOG...to add a visual....

http://www.airliners.net/open.file/244894/L/


[ This Message was edited by: linecrew on 2003-05-23 08:51 ]

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Rudy


Joined: Jan 04, 2003
Posts: 88
From: BC coast
Posted: 2003-05-17 00:36
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Keep this one going folks! Duke has a great history and is a pleasure to hear from. Good stories there, Duke!

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Sawmill Broad


Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 6 Posted: 2003-05-19 10:12
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Hey Duke, how are you doing? Haven't heard from you in awhile.

The sun must be shining and you're out in it, else you would be writing......

You've got a ton of fans here waiting to hear more tales of daring-do!


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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 261 Posted: 2003-05-19 11:33
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Thanks Rudy and Sawmill Broad ..encouraqgement is good.

I thought I had bored everybody to tears because my last story didn't involve a crash or scary rides.

Also, maybe there are too many stories involving old airplanes ... the youngun's like shiny, fast stuff.

A fiend of mine just got his captaincy on the Boeing 700 , glass cockpit.

He said he now knows what it feels like to be a dog watching TV.

The next story involves "The Golden Triangle"...search for gold.


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Cat Driver


Joined: Feb 15, 2003
Posts: 1164 Posted: 2003-05-19 12:21
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Hey Duke:

On that low vis takeoff in Terrace did you roll so far that you eventually flew off the curvature of the earth?


How goes the chemo treatments?

Cat Driver:

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[Duke Elegant]

g0five


Joined: Nov 03, 2001
Posts: 870
From: the depths of insanity
Posted: 2003-05-19 13:38
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Bomber Moon that was one of my fav. chapters.



Please keep writing.

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 261 Posted: 2003-05-20 11:21
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Cat Driver

G'Day mate.....your'e right.... we used to always say that with skill, you could use the curvature of the earth to get off with a load.
Chemo not so good last time around... for the first time I got bummed out ... decided that's OK.... got a lot to be bummed out about.

BUT....

gOfive .... you folks make me feel good.. Thank you.

I will write a short one before the full book chapter about "The Golden Triangle". Cat Driver... this one is for you. It's about Jim.

It proves that Aviation has a soul.

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Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 261 Posted: 2003-05-20 12:08
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Jim was a great pilot and an even better friend. It was fun to see Jim get mad. His face would get as red as a baboon's arse but usually broke into a smile when he realized we were torquing him up.

I had hired him once when I imported an F27 upon which he had lots of experience. He professionally massaged the program to success. I respected him. Jim was a Convair Captain when he died.

I happened to be in Nanaimo at the time of his funeral but I was on a deadline to fly a C117 Super Three to Ontario FULLY laden with eight hours of fuel and tons of spares. The new owner was with us so I told him I had to go to a funeral that was important to me but a better idea invaded my mind, one that seemed to be more appropriate.

I phoned the preacher and learned that the chapel was by the waterfront in Nanaimo and suggested to him that I do a flypast over the chapel. How does one get the timing right on this one? The preacher thought it was a great idea and we hatched a rough plan. I had told him I needed to do a thorough run-up and I hoped I could get it right ... by guessing.

There were Kelowna Flightcraft people down from Kelowna, lots of his local friends and relatives and staff from the airport.

We tried to determine the appropriate time for start and warm-up....which could take a while. So start we did... and run-up. We told Flight Service our intentions and rolled for take off ... and yes!.. we needed the curvature of the earth to get off. We retracted the wheels to save the perimeter fence and lumbered down the inlet....HEAVY. I stayed low at about six hundred feet over the water, around the point and onwards to the chapel by the sea. Timing? Who knows.

Only the preacher and his wife knew we were coming.

The preacher spoke in a comforting tone in the strange silence of the chapel . The minister's wife went to the rear by the big doors that she left cracked slightly open. He
revisited Jim's career and related Jim's favourite times and aeroplanes, one of wich was the DC3.

Only the preacher's wife heard us coming and signalled her husband. He talked of journeys, especially the one Jim was on now.... some people claimed later that they heard a far off recognizable throaty rumble.

He nodded to his wife who threw open the doors .. "and his life involved many journeys..none so important as his jouney now..." The rumble was very loud now ... six hundred feet (legal over the water)...people were taken aback ... I roared overhead ... and peeled up and on my way to Winnipeg. There wasn't a dry eye in the place. " And Jim," said the preacher," that was Captain Duke Elegant... for you, my friend."

They left the doors open for a while till I faded off into the Eastern sky.

I had pulled it off. There was at least ten messages on my cell mailbox when I landed in Medicine Hat with a catostrophic engine failure. At least the engine didn't grenade till I got through the Rockies. Life goes on.



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Nark


Joined: Oct 27, 2002
Posts: 97
From: Canada.
Posted: 2003-05-20 13:58
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These are truely touching stories. I hope that you get better soon.

I'd love to buy you a round. These stories are simply fantastic.

Cheers.
_________________
"But I didn't do it!" -Big Josh.

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Cat Driver


Joined: Feb 15, 2003
Posts: 1177 Posted: 2003-05-20 14:10
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Thanks Duke for a truly honest and touching story.

I was at the airport when you took off and knowing the load you had on board I thought I would be going to another friends funeral.

How do you get through the security screeners when you travel airlines with all those horseshoes up your ass?

I think about your health often and wish we could go back to earlier and more carefree days Duke.

At least Jim never knew what hit him.....

When my time comes I hope it is some jealous husband shooting me out of the saddle..

Cat Driver:

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[steamchicken]

Top class warries! Good luck mate.

[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 263 Posted: 2003-05-20 21:09
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I got a call from my daughter in Montreal today and she had just come back from Maine.
That reminded me of an experience I will never forget. Just a quick one folks.

In 1975/76 we used to fly nine Grumman Avengers from BC to New Brunswick to spray for the budworm infestation. WOW! What fun. Nine Avengers, in three groups of three... can you imagine the trouble we got into across Canada. My engineer flew in the back seat and his stuff was stowed in the belly, including his target shooting .22. We had parachutes upon which we sat as part of our seat... and boy!... after four hours they felt as if they were full of deer antlers.

That same year was the year that a D.B. Cooper had hijacked a 727, grabbed about a million in cash, got the crew to lower the rear door and parachuted to earth somewhere over Oregon if memory serves me correctly. He was never located, nor the booty.

Well, we got to New Brunswick and Conair had a rental vehicle for us and we unloaded our gear and got ready for spraying....by the way... we carried 650US gallons of insecticide... heavy, to say the least. But the bugs hadn't crawled out yet so we had some time off. "Let's go to Calais, Maine, and get **** faced".... so we did.... or so we thought.

Six of us crammed into the Buick and pulled up to the US border. We were all competing for loudmouth of the month so the US customs were not impressed.

"Open your trunk!" grunts this Billy but we knew no fear... we hadn't done anything.

Well, it turns out that my engineer had his chute in the trunk along with his rifle. He was not with us.

They were looking for D.B. Cooper. They were sure they had him... or us... didn't matter.

Up against the wall we went till the FBI showed up. It sure didn't help with us calling them morons.

We did talk (babble) our way out of it and as an interesting side-note to this I believe that 727's were modified so that the door could not be deployed in flight.

They call it the D.B Cooper switch... could someone elaborate on this?

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-05-20 21:15 ]

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[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 263 Posted: 2003-05-21 16:06
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FIRE BOMBING AS A CAREER

The last few years have surley brought the Fire Bombing industry to the forefront. We have had a long string of hot years. I was a tanker pilot since 1975 ... twenty eight years. Those years probably had an equal number of wet years. One season, Dennis King had the record.... 14 hours. Yet we still made fifty g's. My records show one year 35 hours, another year 41 hours and just over fifty. That's what you get the money for. The sitting around.. on base... with the same crew of ten or so... day after day... sometimes twelve hours. Sometimes two months straight like this. Three years in a row in the eightees. Day after yawning day.. laying around...TV.. wandering.. group to small group. You can't even escape the one you don't like.... you are with him... twelve hours... three months...like a bad marriage.
In Alberta, at least, once a week we got a practice. We savoured that hour like a fine wine. It was always done in good weather and was usually conducted in a relaxed and enjoyable manner. It was always safe.... it was always fun. The one you didn't like enjoyed it too.

You can only have so many BBQ's... you can only play so much cards... We slept and whined and snivelled. Jokes wore thin.

So I was usually the ring leader and every year I had a scheme hatched to relieve the boredom. The chief pilot called me a lightening rod. I attracted all the trouble and someone else usually got the ****. I had it made.

So one year , I arrived on the base in Manning with complex plans for a spud gun. I recruited Rooster first so I could divert the heat. We had fun purchasing the plumbing and with our not so tight schedule, these guns were built to perfection and mine was highly modified. Rooster was a tobacco chewing redneck with a gruff voice... the perfect candidate to buy the propellant...Alberto VO5 hairspray. We all watched as Rooster growled at the dainty salesgirl, "Gimmee a case of that there Alberto VO5". She winced , then she eyed the few hairs that escaped under his EVER present ballcap. I think she was on to him. So back to the base for some test firing. The firing mechanism was a BBQ igniter that was borrowed from Forestry. Their potatoes were borrowed too. We cut the spud in two and tampted it down to just above the firing chamber. Next, the cleanout was unscrewed and a hiss of Alberto VO5 was introduced. The spud held the gas in tight.

Most people cowered and hid . I urged Rooster to get down below the muzzle and I lit her off. KAA-Fu*kin'-BOOM! The spud hurtled 100 yards plus. Morale problems for the summer disappeared as this cult like activity spread to other bases.

Then I get the memo. ****! Rooster ALWAYS got the memo's..... 'cause I usually caused them. Did I know, or have anything to do with the Phenomena of The Missing BBQ igniters Province wide?.
****! I hope they don't show up in a Dash 8 and investigate me like once before. Another story.
My modified one with the elongated combustion chamber was particularly menacing when the threaded end would blow out...and without ruining the threads. That shows how much the chamber expanded. I had to be re-enforced with huge hose clamps... guess whose inventory these depleted.
One day I spies this little dead bird so we decide to give him a final memorial flight. WE gently and respectfully smoothed his little feathers down and gently lowered him into the chamber. KA-fuc*in-BOOM! He rocketed skyward until zero g's and fell gently backwards. The wind drifted his corpse onto an unreachable part of the very hot tin roof of the equipment shed where little Wilbur graced us with his memorial to rotting flesh for a week or so.
We needed more challenges and so off we went to the Shrine of Intelligence for a few jugs.
Butch Foster had already built two homebuilts, a replica P51 and a P40. He was building his latest radio controlled P40 when thirty dollars worth of beer releived him of ownership of one of his models, an older P40 with a good engine.
Before stand -to the next day we all showed up in the forestry van at a friends farm where already there were twenty people with kids.
Word had spread fast in tiny Manning.
We used Yukon Gold potatoes as they were more dense and a good tight skin.. and gun teams consisting of a spud cutter, a loader/propellant man and the firer. Eric Ebert had gone to Peace River and had four missiles which were hooked up to the battery in the van. Butch, an old CF-100 pilot had to fly through this. And fly he did..he jinked wildly as he flew circuit after cuircut as the guns pounded away.. and the cattle stampeded to the neighbours, the missiles launched and missed the jinking P40...babies cried, my gun exploaded and the cleanout tore a gouge in the forestry van... on it flew.. C.B. Schmurdlap, the tiny pilot knew no fear.
Then Rooster got a hit..right into the prop and the engine quit but Butch glided to a rough landing. The kids ran across the field to capture the pilot and guess what? He wasn't in there so a long seach commenced.

So after all the paperwork.................

I did something I regret in Pincher Creek. We were going to measure hang time on a modified gun that fired a golf ball wrapped in electrical tape. Onto the tarmac we went. We fired it straight up....outa sight...****! Where is it... hands crept up to headtops and we crouched BOOOOING....next to my A26 it hit and up outta sight again... Oh ****!.... the paperwork...
Lucky..that's what I was... never hit.

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Zatopec


Joined: Jan 26, 2002
Posts: 280
From: Hyperspace
Posted: 2003-05-21 18:12
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You're the best!
_________________
La seule place où le succès vient avant le travail, c'est dans le dictionnaire.

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[tinpis]

Ha ha spudguns:p

Remember the unlimited supply of fireworks in PNG Duke?

Big bad bungas,bottle rockets you name it, all available from your local chinee store.

New Years eve long taim bipor,at a pilots party in Lae some military type Porter pilot after mucho lunatic soup,thought it a good idea to launch a para flare at the stroke of midnight.

Up, up she went.. OOoooo... bursting into awesome light as it carried off into the balmy tropical night....

Next morning it was revealed that some locals had gone on the rampage smashing chinese trade store windows in a nearby village after a large firework had descended on a grass hut :uhoh:

Hmmm..me wonders if Treefrog remembers that...???

[Duke Elegant]

Duke Elegant


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 265 Posted: 2003-05-21 18:20
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One time I was based with a bunch of old Fire bomber pilots... two were 65+.

We were in Manning again and we were bored so we bought an old station wagon for a case of beer and we were rebuilding it from the junkyard. Even old Mac helped.

He had a face like George Chuvallo after his fight with Muhammed Ali and the biggest paws I had seen. He also had an attractive sixty year old wife and he used to go childlike in her presence. The long summer days had the fields smothered in dandelions and most had seeded into pom poms that blew everywhere.

Mac's wife was
driving up from BC that day and he was all ga-ga.

I wandered into the equipment shop for parts and there was Mac standing, in his socks, on the cement floor.... his shoes were in the vice. What? thinks I.
He was spraying his huge shoes with glossy Tremclad. "The bride's coming," he repeated breathlessly. "How do ya like the shoes?" They were wet and tacky.

I turned, in wonderment, to leave when I see down the road is coming a little Datsun pickup. It's Irene....she made good time.

I yelled to Mac, "It's her, it's Irene"

He started panting and mumbling erratically as he retrieved his shoes from the vice and hopped around pulling on his shoes.

The timing was perfect... she rolled into the parking lot as old Mac trotted across the dandelion infested grass , those massive shoes collecting huge furballs of puff seeds.
By the time he got to her to sweep her into his arms his shoes looked like giant bunny slippers and we all howled... and howled with laughter and Irene couldn't even keep a straight face.
It is the stuff of legend.

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Flashman


Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 28 Posted: 2003-05-21 19:16
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Old Mac ...... unbelievable!

Those shoes ....Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha !

I was there.

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Sawmill Broad


Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 6 Posted: 2003-05-21 21:12
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Ohmigod! That is just too funny! Can't stop chuckling! Did anyone get a photo? hahaha love it....

So nice that there are still true White Knights out there.....with white shoes!!! lol

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Yak Driver


Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 19
From: Vancouver
Posted: 2003-05-22 10:49
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Hey Duke,

I'm sorry we weren't able to drag you down to California. It was a tough couple days of fun. The usual, lots of flying, lying and drinking (or something like that). I'm not sure if your little butt would have been able to handle all that time on the parachute. Mine was seriously numb.... But all the ACM, and formation was worthwhile.

Right now Chris and I are having fun with the Casa in Sweden, it doesn't get much better than this.

Please keep up the awesome posts, makes for great reading when while we sit watching the rain.

Here's a little teaser of what you missed

http://www.mercedsun-star.com/content/img/f57803/Page%201.jpg

[Duke Elegant]

One day, before the flying lobster event, I was hangin' about my motel room in Brantford ONT , waiting for nightfall in order to fly cargo to Yarmouth, N.S.

There was a knock on the door and there stood my co-pilot, who, incidentley, was soon to endure one hell of an adventure out over the Atlantic.

He ambled up to me and mumbled something like, "here this is for you" and never did really look at me .. . then, away he went.
There was a small shopping bag in my hand.

Inside was a nice pentagon shaped wooden box, which, upon opening, was a clock.

Inside was engraved 'HONOUR IS A MAN'S GIFT TO HIMSELF"

So he did pay attention. I had told him this months ago and I was touched.

Honour is hard won.

In the eightees, there were four of us in A26's and we had taken off from Manning for a leisurley base change to High Level, less than an hour away. There was Bhudda the base manager, Turbo, Mr Magoo and me. I had an engineer riding with me and he promptly went to sleep. We had all levelled off at the same altitude and were in sight of each other. The sun was warm thru the canopy but it was smooth. I could see the Peace River to my right and three bombers to my left. We droned on.

Magoos's bomber was slowly making it's way toward me so I kept an eye out and waited for his call. Maybe he wanted to formate , take some pictures... maybe not.No call.

He was exactly at my altitude and now I could see his helmet clearly thru the canopy .... looking down at a map. I shook Kirk awake and pointed to my left. His eyes went as big as dog's balls. We had no intercom. I dove gently and let him roar overhead maybe fifty feet away.

We then watched him to our right. He must have seen the Peace and realized he was too far East and banked left ...... RIHT TOWARD US AGAIN. The first thing he saw was my A26 and he dived sharply away. Kirk simply shook his head.

Magoo must have poured on the coals because we didn't see him again till we landed. I taxied for fuel and shut down.

We sat on the wing and waited. I said to Kirk, "Listen Mate! We know that was stoopid of Magoo but I would like to keep our mouths shut because he is old and Bhudda has been trying to get rid of him ... this would do him in"
"No worries," says Kirk, "I agree"

The gooper comes running over to tell us there is an important meeting and I should attend so Kirk said he would refuel for me. So I amble over to the briefing room. That alone pissed Bhudda off and that was my sport.

Bhudda drew himself up to full height and, pompously droning on.... "It has been reported to me," he says looking straight at me. I knew nothing. He seemed to think he had me...on something... " that a very ser..."

Those are the few words he got out when the spring went off in my arse that rocketed me out of my chair, finger already pointing..
I knew what was coming..
"Enough!!," I bellowed as I strode to the door and in my Army voice, "invited" Kirk to join us.
I spun around, "Nothing more till he gets here!"

Kirk arrived. "Tell this group here what happened" He related the story calmly,

You see, Magoo had rushed to town to squeel on me.

"More importantly," says I, "Kirk, what did I say on the wing"

Again, he explained how I had tried to protect Magoo. I glanced at Magoo and saw a 66 year old man with tears in his eyes ... he had realized his fu*k up.

I strode outside and was on my own when I was approached by Magoo. He aplologized... and asked for forgiveness.

A simple "yes" was a good investment in a long friendship that endures to this day.



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Rebel


Joined: Nov 13, 2001
Posts: 579 Posted: 2003-05-22 17:14
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They call it the D.B Cooper switch... could someone elaborate on this?

Hi Duke I'm very sorry to learn of your illness and I'm sure with your positive attitude that you'll beat it...I will say a prayer for you.

The Cooper switch was simplicity in itself. The engineers installed a vane on the outside of the fuselage that blocked the rear stair opening circuit when air flowed over it.

I wish you a speedy recovery and please keep the stories coming as they are simply fantastic...

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Fly1


Joined: Oct 17, 2002
Posts: 149 Posted: 2003-05-22 17:29
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Duke Elegant...please keep the stories coming, they are awesome. Best of luck with your fight...wish I could have been your co-pilot on some of these trips A career most of us could only wish for!

Take care,
Fly1

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Linecrew


Joined: Jan 02, 2003
Posts: 60
From: Canada
Posted: 2003-05-23 09:19
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Neat follow on...the last 7 airworthy spruce budworm spraying Avengers are up for sale! I found the company's website and saw this: http://www.forestprotectionltd.com/tbmforsale.htm

[ This Message was edited by: linecrew on 2003-05-23 12:01 ]

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MissFortune


Joined: May 27, 2003
Posts: 1
From: Montre-ALL!!!
Posted: 2003-05-27 11:44
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my dear dad,
well well well...look who's here. me. we spoke of your latest posts the other day and i have been glued to my computer all morning. is it duke elegant...or duke eloquent? very well written, dad. you do certainly weave a fine tale...and to all you out there - most of it is actually true!!! (hehe.) i too wanted to give you props (no pun intended) to encourage you in your writing endeavors. as you well know, and have taught me (yes, i was listening - sometimes): when one door is closed, another is opened. you may not be up in the air, but you've found your other passion and talent in words.
i'll be back here soon...keep writing!

talk to you later...

me.

[Duke Elegant]

Just when you thought the Old Duke had croaked .... I re-appear.

There are more stories coming now that the Avcanada forum is up and running and I have access to my old tales.

Stay Tuned....

[Duke Elegant]

I know how lucky I am to have touched the soul of Aviation. There is , in Aviation , a perfect mix of adventure , commaradarie with a pinch of sorcery.

A few stories ago , I had the honourable pleasure of flying the perfect send-off for a fallen aviator Jimmy Tallis , who I respected so much. This was flown in the C117.

Read the following tale and share in the magic.

We were four A26 fire-bombers based in Alberta. It could have been a very boring small farming community but over the years we made friends with some farmers who let us use the fields for one of our pilots who built and flew model airplanes. One night in the pub after quaffing numerous jugs of Golden Throat Charmers we convinced Butch to let us shoot at his wildly jinking model P40 with our recently built spud guns. It was hilarious and the farmer's families would all show up for this event. Those friendships grew over the years so we were deeply saddened when an old timer was killed in a tractor accident.

The funeral was on a sunny day but we were on yellow alert so I arranged with the forestry that we could attend but we would stay at the back of the church and in fact I was outside with a cell phone. The dispatcher had the number so in the event of a fire dispatch we were ready to roll and wouldn't disturb the service. The old timer's daughter worked for forestry and her boss Ken Yakima was to give the eulogy.

Wouldn't you know it. Five minutes into the service the dispatcher calls ... fire 150NM north... co-ordinates ... blah blah blah.
I signalled to the crew and we snuck out un-noticed and piled into the van.

Brakes on and all clear ...Boost pumps high.
I cranked the starter , mixture full rich. I counted nine blades then mags on .. she jerks and shudders as a few of the eighteen cylinders kick in ..and she settles into an orgasmic Harley like rumble as she smooths out.

I taxied to the pits for my retardant load prior to runup which is done slowly and deliberately ... trust me.

I lined the '26 six up for a take off to the West. The fire was to the North which required a right turn .. but then I had a feeling that I had really wanted to be at George's funeral so maybe I'll pay a visit.... a few miles South. I was first off and I would probably overtake the bird-dog anyway so I had some time ... all at $175 per hour too.
Maybe 500 feet... maybe six ...I was legal coz I was within safe gliding distance to a landing area. Also I was doing three hundred knots ..Anyhow, I scorched over the church then turned North to the fire.

We fought the fire all afternoon and upon return we were treated to a fine meal by forestry while we did our paperwork. It was then I learned that Butch Foster, who took off number four, had independantly decided to do the same thing as I had done and he , too, had scorched over the funeral.
Then we got a visit from Ken Yakima, the senior forestry guy who had given the eulogy.... Ken was glassy eyed .. He said that it was uncanny ... and beautiful what had happened that day. During the eulogy he told how we bomber guys loved old George and, just as he made an apology to the congregation on our behalf that we were not in attendance, I roared overhead. And just as he finished his speech , Butch roared overhead .. he said you could not EVER have arranged that.

Aviation showed her soul one more time .............

[Paracab]

Duke,

Your last story bought a lump to my throat, I'm sure I'm not the only one as well, absolutely wonderful account.

A fantastic thread as well. Please, please keep it going.

Wishing you the very best,

PC.

[Duke Elegant]

It was to be just another day of formation spraying.. It was normal to be awakened before dawn and stumble for breakfast. That is the way it happened in camp. I was not in camp.

I was in the closest cheap motel with the cute little tower radio operator.
I was awakened by the distant growl of TBM Avengers taking off. Sh#t! The first team was getting airborne and I was AWOL... And I was the leader of Brandy Team too. I screeched off to the base in the rental car and skidded to a halt in front of a group of anxious pilots and engineers from my team.

I was, at that moment, as popular as a pork chop in a synagogue.

I grabbed the leather jacket off one engineer and boots off another and clambered up into the cockpit of the Avenger which had already been warmed up while they tried to reveal my whereabouts.. I quickly learned that my radio didn't work so I motioned to #2 to take the lead and I would formate as #2. He got the message and taxiied into the pits for a load of insecticide.

Now here was the procedure which was tried and proven over the years. We would carry full wing tanks and about fifty gallons in the belly tank. We would take off on the left wing tank and fly to the block where, upon lining up the two Cessnas on the line to be sprayed , we would then at the command of the leader switch tanks to right wing so that we didn't have to worry about fuel for the next hour at fifty foot altitude. Here I was taxiing into position of #2 ... No radio.

I had gotten used to being the leader where I navigated to the block at 170knots and maybe five hundred feet. We stayed low so we could more easily see the pointer aircraft against the sky. Also at dawn when going to an eastern block , the sun made this difficult. The other guys stayed in formation.

Now I struggled with keeping perfect formation because if you didn't, the #3 position became more difficult to fly. I watched the leaders spray nozzles as this would be my cue to turn my booms on. I noticed we were slightly descending to fifty feet and throttling back to spray speed....
Perfect... I am holding position well...I glance over my shoulder at #3 and get the thumbs up.

Down the line .. Booms on and we are spraying.. After a few lines I was really comfortable as #2. The turns at the end of the line required that we change sides in order to avoid drift caused by wind. Also, the steep turn had to be above the leaders slipstream....... Those who ventured there, perished. This required that you pay attention. And pay attention I did.. I was pulling hard to stay close to the leader.. my helmet heavy with the g forces. I am about to slide into position when the engine quit dead .. A couple of gulps and DEAD. ... I rolled the wings level and fumbled for the fuel lever and boost pump ... TOO LATE! ... Speed decreasing fast ... 50 feet...I poke the nose towards the trees when a winding road appears .. I poked it under some power lines and crashed heavilly onto the road wheels up. The impact drove me forward into my harness as the banshee tearing, screeching sound of 17,000 lbs of TBM hurtled down the road on its keel, reminding me of the missed radio call : "Brandy team, right wing tank GO"

The rudder was useless now as the TBM veered left and took out a wooden power pole, which tore the wingtip off and slowed the airplane down and it lurched drunkenly to a stop in a ditch with the prop blades neatly curled up around the huge cowl.

It was only eight seconds ago that I had a job.

The other two teammates circled lazilly above to make sure I was OK. I waved them off .. I wanted to be alone.

I walked to a nearby farm house ... On the way I kicked horse turds.

[Duke Elegant]

Here is one of the posts regarding my stories. I post it here because I need blubbering adoration.

Spiraldive


Joined: Dec 08, 2001
Posts: 214
From: OGG
Posted: 2003-07-03 00:45
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Duke:

You have clearly forgotten more about flying than most of us will ever have the chance to know. The battle you now fight is not a new one, but more people than you have ever met want you to win it. Me included.

If you have given to your family half what you have given to flying, your family must think you are a saint (silly them, we all know pilots are bastards at heart ).
I have a feeling that we’ll get the chance to hear your sordid stories about the merits of one stewardess over another for some time to come. And don’t worry, like all good aviators, we won’t tell your wife or family. Promise. Really. We won’t.

Btw, that you can both write AND fly is unusual, since many pilots can’t do either.

For the record, your stories make me a little mad, ‘cause those were the glory days when stewardesses made less money than the pilots, and passengers thought pilots were heros for just getting them on the ground still alive. Now the ‘stews, many of whom are pushing 55, whine like abandoned dogs if they even feel the plane land and ‘risk’ is a word alien to the travelling public.

It is nice to hear tales told as only the true pilots can tell them. I have had the privilege of hearing similar stories told of the days when smoking pipes was the norm in the cockpit and the "stews" were as free thinking as the crazy bastards that flew them around. The trouble-makers were inevitably listed as the best pilots of the bunch.

Your tales list you as one trouble-maker who is either truly blessed, incredibly skilled, or just plain lucky. (I see that you seem to favour, ahem, -"incredibly skilled"-, modesty not being a trait found in most pilots, I guess)

I have the pleasure of knowing a few other aviators who have lived through similarly silly (and from what I can see, enviable) careers (using Germany as a dogfight playground in Sabres? Whee!) . Also some of the less enviable flying, ie. flying when and where they shouldn’t, for reasons that TC would have kittens over these days. Like getting the job done ‘cause war, hunger, or family, called for it.

In thirty-five years time, Duke, your friends and family may have an excuse to have no dry eyes in the house. And some similarly crazed trouble-makers may have figured out a way to steal a fleet of TBM Avengers from the Canadian Aviation Museum and overfly the church in missing-man formation. Should the time come, I’ll happily steal one myself and then write tall stories about it. Until then…

History is written not by the victors like everyone says it is- it’s written by the survivors.

And your stories list you as being solidly among them.

My best wishes and hopes that you’ll be writing your own damn history for some time to come. Tell me when the book comes out.

Be well.

Spiraldive.



I cannot thank people enough for giving me the inspiration to live my life over again and share it with fellow Aviators.
Thank you all who read.

[Duke Elegant]

I was heading for Baimuru, on the South coast of Papua New Guinea. I was out of Goroka, in the highlands. Goroka was paradise for sure .... The Bena Bena River ran close by as it meandered down the valley which itself was 5000 feet above sea level.
Even the airport was beautiful as the wild tropical highland flowers bathed us in a sweet scent.
Ninety percent of the population still wore traditional dress ... arse grass skirts, bone in the nose and carrying spears and bows. Strange arrows though.... no flights on the shaft.. But holy mackerel, they sure went straight.

Baimuru, on the other hand, lacked the beauty but certainly had a perverse charm.

More on that later.
I fly out of the valley towards Karimui, an airstrip carved into the side of a volcano ... very familiar to me ...I buy coffee there and stock the trade store.
The mountain range ahead jags up to ten thousand feet so I stoke the Cessna 182 and get a measily nineteen inches of boost.,.. I have to make it through the pass.
The load is light .... some fresh bread and vegies for the owners of the "hotel"
Fresh bread ... sure smells nice ...I rip into the bag and feast.
The weather is always nice here ... up until two PM every day that is ...and then the massive cumulous clouds boil upwards... up to fifty thousand .. the passes become clogged and you are pooched.
AAAAHHH! The warm sun in the cockpit ... fresh air vent howling... fresh bread.
Through the pass and the thick jungle slopes plummet down onto the the jewel of Papua...Lake Kutubu... a plateau a couple of thousand feet above sea level. Then jagged limestone pinnicles stab upward through the jungle... menacing sight.
The Continental drones away... Thank God!

Descending now towards the flat South coast.
Sh#t! An overcast ahead ... better duck under.I wander off heading as I dodge rags hanging in the last of the hills. Low, I fly now... sometimes heavy rain... looks lighter over there, so I go over there. Three, maybe four hundred feet... forty five minutes to go, over a green inpenetrable canopy. Any rivers that would be an aid to navigation are overgrown with canopy ... nothing... I am alone.

There are natives down there ... somewhere .
They would be running through the jungle, scuffing up their feet ...killing supper.
Crocidiles everywhere down there.. in the many swamps buzzing with mosquitos.
The wild beauty offers little solace.... the Continental drones on.....
Around a few more heavy rain showers...sometimes East... sometimes West.
I am heading for a dot on the coast ...poor vis..nose pressed up against the glass.
Anxious ... that's what I am. Up ahead ... the coast .. whew! I have the coast.
Upon arrival at the coast, there is no Baimuru .
Do I turn left or right... back over the swamps, did I favour left of course ... or right..Dunno!
I turn right and fly East.... searching.
Decision time... fuel .. how much? Fifteen minutes East means retracing flightpath and then maybe fifteen minutes West. Thirty minutes more to what? A maybe ... maybe Baimuru ... maybe not.

A cold chill in the hot, steamy cockpit.
I look down at my chances in the swampy, croc infested jungle.

I will never make this mistake again.

On future flights, I swear I will make a POSITIVE ERROR and intentionally fly either too far East , or too far West ... it doesn't matter.
At least when I get to the coast I will know which way to turn.

POSITIVE ERROR!

But then you young'uns have GPS ... and they never fail.
The Continental droned on.

I found Baimuru , luckilly... on the fourth sweep... back and forth.

Now the adventure really starts.

[Duke Elegant]

The airstrip at Baimuru had a bog at one end, then a hump and a bog at the other end. I had to taxi to the only dry part on the road connecting the airstrip to the hotel .... on the banks of the river. The airplane couldn't be parked under a tree, they were too low ... a steamy green carpet ... hot ...oppresive.

Yet I was always happy to land there.

I had just flown one and a half hours over some of the most inhospitable landscape on the planet ... in a Cessna 182.
And it was downhill. Goroka was a mile above sea level, then up through the cloud choked pass at ten thousand feet then cruise descending to Lake Kutubu and down onto the flat, tangled delta jungle. Here the rivers slithered out from under the jungle canopy and fattened out into wide meandering rivers teaming with fish , snakes and crocodiles. Reddish brown in colour, these rivers met the coast in a sea of mud.

They came by the hundreds. An oily black sea of natives squeeling as they ran towards the airplane ... and the prop stopped just in time. Hundreds of pearly white smiles as wide as the Baimuru river against the black background .. wide eyed .. clear eyed.

Even so, half were sick. Malaria , dysentry, berri-berri.
Thin, hobbling... most running. Their tight, curly hair formed orbs around the happy faces.

The Kindam approached. Kindam , in their language meant crab.
He was a white chap. He was a survivor of polio and his left hand was clawlike and he walked sideways with a limp.
The only other white person was Mutt and they were partners in the hotel on the muddy banks of the Baimuru.
But the people never came .... not one.Ever.
A few of the picininnis were light colored so obviosly Mutt and the crab enjoyed some horizontal refreshment.

These were sick but peaceful people. Only two rivers over is the mighty Fly River system. Only two years prior to my being here, cannibalism was against the law . It was these Fly River tribesmen that had eaten Rockerfeller, the rich American adventurer.

From a distance, the hotel looked inviting. Palm trees , lots of green grass ... and upriver, the grass huts. It seemed like a Bogart movie.

We walk closer, kids jostling for a chance to see the sky God who flew the Balus.
There were no windows. The holes for the windows were all different sizes. It was hand built using cement and chicken wire then drowned in white paint. The plastering job on the outside looked like it was done by a drunk, one armed painter with the crabs.
It did meet the approval of the spiders, bats and snakes.
We went into the crab's office .. or living quarters .. or workshop ..what ever it was .. it fulfilled many roles.
The porters laid down the fresh bread and veggies I had brought and were shooed away by Mutt shouting "Raus .. Raus"
"Fred should be here with the barge in the morning." I was told. I shiverd in the sweaty stinking heat. "Sh*t!" thinks I. I hope they don't ask me to stay.
"Crikey! That means you'll be staying the night" offers Mutt. He motioned to the slab attatched to the wall upon which was a World War One mattress covered with a mystery substance .. that moved!

"Fred says he has heaps of Barramundi for you .. heaps. And skins too." They were excited as to the prospect of a healthy commission.

I explained that the croc skins would have to wait. I couldn't have them onboard with the fish. I had made that mistake before. But the cooks at the high end Bird of Paradise Hotel , tucked away in the highlands had passed off my fish as some sort of croc wafted Barra Delight.
The crab had already dragged his bum leg off in the direction towards the grass huts in order to procure tonights entertainment.
It did not look good.

[Duke Elegant]

I had to figure a way to flee.

A vignette played in my mind ... The Crab, Mutt and I , lathered in sweat, writhing and pounding away with three emaciated jungle princesses to the tune of their only eight track ..... another nightmare .

My khaki shirt hung heavilly with sweat as we negotiated the terms of a refrigeration storage fee for the tons of fish that would be stored here and then shuttled to the highland resorts until their freezers were full and then I had to scheme a load of something else.
Luckilly, this time I had about four loads of croc skins to be flown to the North coast of New Guinea. Here's how it works.

Fred, an unknown Swiss wierdo had a barge with four big outboards that plied the delta area for fish, crabs and crocs. He towed three punts behind, each with an outboard, that were used after dark for croc hunting. Three in a boat they would go along the banks with a huge spotlight ... into the darkest of dark you can imagine. The eyes light up like two flashlights ... but you don't have a clue how big it is. On the south coast, there is a size limit and I think it was thirty inches across the tender belly .. armour to armour. On the North coast, there was no limit. Perfect for a businessman like myself.
How did you know how big he is? You don't .. they all look the same in the sights.
Fred caught Barrimundi fish in his nets. He would get really p*ssed off when a sawshark would get caught in the net and the beast thrashed about with the huge saw and ruined his net. He would bring them close to the surface and shoot them with a .303 rifle and cast them adrift. Later, I experimented with selling the shark meat to the native fish shops that were identified by the swirling balls of flies.
On landing in Goroka, the ATC would often say, "Clear to land, flies are moderate today."

I excused myself from the negotiations to clear my mind. Flee ... I have to flee. I walked to the bank of the river surrounded by thirty coy, giggling children all dashing hithertoo.

I couldn't believe the good fortune that burst upon my predicament....

[Duke Elegant]

I looked downstream, towards the sea that, in the distance, shimmered in the dank humidity. I walked past the posts upon which the huge sawsharks were bled prior to filleting. If this wasn't done correctly the product stunk of ammonia and spoiled any other cargo aboard. A pile of croc skins soaked in formaldahide and some were salted and rolled up ready for the Asian buyers on the North Coast.


Through the shimmering heat I saw a shape rounding the point ... couldn't be! Gadzooks! It was ... it was Fred on the barge and he was a day early. I immediately started playing stupid games with the kids ... "I was outa here!" thinks I.

But wait ... my mind flashed back to the 10,000 foot pass ... It was after 1400hrs. The cumulous would be starting to plug all the holes ... you could usually watch the tops boiling upwards into the blue. Then at 1600hrs , the 50,000 foot monsters would drop their guts in tropical downpours. We were usually breasted up to the bar at this point as flying was usually over for the day.

I had to weigh the safety issue . If I got to the pass late and I had to come back, it would be dark. Black is black in the tropics and Baimuru was hard enough to find in the daytime.
I made the safest choice ... I would go flying ... the alternative was frightening.... jungle princesses , the Crab , Mutt ... I wasn't prepared to pay that price. I'll take on the weather.

It took an hour for the barge to motor upstream and soon it docked with an accompanying merriment hithertoo unimagined. The nine boys on the barge waved frantically at their equally boistrious family ashore.

A tall, gaunt scary figure towered and glowered over all around ... Fred. Dressed in jungle fatigues, thick heavilly rimmed glasses and army boots, he barked orders in pidgin, a language that I still can speak today. He said nothing to me. He never did.
The Crab came down and we inspected the hold. Four thousand pounds of whole Barramundi. And maybe four loads of croc skins. A weeks flying at least. A full load (delete "load" .. insert "overload" ) was quickly portered to the Cessna parked on the track and packed in with a tribesman holding up the tail till I climbed in .The nearest weigh scales were in Port Morsbey, two hundred miles away... Oh well!.. I hurredly started the engine with one hand whilst holding the door open to try to deflect some air. I taxied through the mud, still holding the door as I fiddled with the HF to pass my flight plan to Port Moresby. It was full radio reporting in this country .. you didn't take off till you had contact and passed a plan. The HF crackled an acknowledgement. I taxied to the bog , closed the door and opened the throttle. Bloody hot! Sweating .. eyes stinging... the aircraft went nowhere .. nearly down to the axles. I sawed back and forth on the elevator to lighten the nosewheel ....and it inched forward ... roaring .. lurching. It inched out of the bog and by the time I arrived at the hump I had a good five knots. I dragged this measilly five knots to the top and slowly accelerated downhill .. towards the other bog. HOT! Steamy! I sweated. The fresh air vent (delete "fresh" insert "stink") .. well it moaned and sucked and rattled .. it did ****** all. A final tug just before the bog and it sagged into the air ...and went nowhere .. the rough stinking air swatted me forever down. Wow! Thinks I. Am I now at the pinnicle of my three year old aviation career?

It was now uphill, all the way.

Lake Kutubu , the jewel of New Guinea was visible ahead. It was backdropped by a menacing black giant with a green tinge indicating heavy rain. I could see through the Eastern fringe .. so I flew there.

Below , the thick , tangled jungle went by far too slowly.

I thinks ... things should start to get interesting ... right about now. Crack!!!! Lightning ... turbulence.. the airplane bucks and wallows .. the vent hissing, then sucking. I am flying into rising ground.
We were well schooled at low level flying in the Army, so I angle off the slope so I am not at ninety degrees .. so I can fall off .. I have somewhere to go. I struggle up.. around another limestone pinnicle.... up to five thousand ... mountains ahead ... five thousand to go. The Continental drones on.

[tinpis]

:p

Yeah Duke lucky yer were working for yaself and not old Hellydore von Tshussnegg,he woulda turned ya around when ya made Hagen and sent ya back for another load

Ach..! I know ziss vether !

[Duke Elegant]

Helly never knew what to make of me ... I know his blood pressure rose every time he saw me.

Probably because he had no control.

And tinpis : I got the name of the Lake wrong. It wasn't Lake Kutubu but the one that was smaller and on the way Karimui to Baimuru. I would like to edit my post if you could look on a map. for me.


Up! Five thousand more feet I needed.
I look at the throttle .. it's in against the panel. Kilo Romeo Bravo , my trusty but hard ridden Cessna 182 , spent most of her life with with the knob all the way in .. nineteen inches.. not a lot to claw one's way up to ten thousand.

I see the pass .. ahead and higher. The dark green bags of thunder are rolling down each side ... maybe I need ten minutes .. will it be to late? What then? The Continental drones on ....
Drat!! I'm overdue on my HF half hourly position report. The HF chatters and screaches with static .. sunspot activity thinks I ..I hear Indonesian voices too. The border is only a hundred miles or so.

I am outside the two minute grace period.

I even think I hear screaming people ... Hell! This is a lonely place.
A break in the screaming and static.. so I blurt out my position with an ETA Goroka .. an hour away yet .. yet the Continental drones on... and on ..

I decide to abandon the pass.. it's choked .. on the bottom jaw .. green jungle .. on the top ... heavy green/black bags of water. I circle up through a hole ..I now need thirteen thousand , my eyes darting always .. to the Horizon Indicator. Back outside the walls of the vortex seem closer now Circling tighter .. Hate that .. rate of climb thereby diminishes.... poof! In and out of cloud now ... at least the screaming stopped .. wierd.
Up to the blue hole.

Conjour up a pleasant thought .. I must. Because I don't like this. I am alone ..the Continental ..
I think of one week ago.
If the Continental had quit anytime over the last year, I would be dead . A forced landing in this enviroment was terminal.

My partner and I owned this small company, Chimbu Traders and we knew it was time to move up to an Aztec. We had found one in Paradise.

There was a Garden of Eden called Aiyura. Neat as a pin , an orderly mission station. It had a perfectly mown grass strip. They had about four planes and their Aztec was too small for them. Forty thousand dollars ... with a spare engine . Turbocharged too!
They were the Sumner Institute of Linguistics and their mission was to translate the seven hundred tribal languages into English and vice versa. Their vegetable gardens were a thing of beauty as was their small coffee plantation.
We had the cash. "Come pick it up Tuesday" smiles the amiable chief pilot, Doug Hunt from Canada.
I had also agreed to give back the regristration to them .. after all it was VH-SIL
I smile as I fantasize ..turbos .. my God!
Two engines .. YEEEEHAAA! The Continental droned upwards. I pop out the top into the blue and cruise to Goroka. Ah! The glory...
Over there.. what's that airplane I see .. an F27 looks like ..it comes closer .. close.. then peels away. He is IFR to Goroka.
I could see faces pressed up against the glass.. could be a friend, Captain Skinny Hawkins .. or Fatty Hawkins .. who knows.. nothing was said. I was at fourteen thousand ....this would come back to haunt me.
I landed uphill at Goroka and quickly got taxi clearance back down to Bena Bena plantation where the cargo would be unloaded and put into our walk in freezer.. Whew! Hot work.
I jumped eagerly into the Toyota four-by and went to hoist a few "Golden Throat Charmers" with my mates ...at the Bird of Paradise Hotel.
They were ashen faced .. all with a hollow look as I burst upon the scene ready to babble out my tales of Daring Doo.


The silence was deafening .........

They were mostly pilots , some coffee buyers, a plantation owner or two. There was a stewardess too... Heidi , my German girlfriend.

She had big tits.

She was here for the special event .. to pick up my Aztec on Tuesday.... We were to go down to Aiyura and complete the deal and fly her back to Goroka.


Nobody moved ... some stared into their drinks.
A plane had gone in. But who? This was happening with monotonous regularity lately.. my mind raced through my mental inventory of pilots ..
The Chief Pilot from Territory Airlines approached .. Brian McCook was uncharacteristically dignified.

"It's bad Duke...." he paused ...".VH-SIL went in today ... all seven onboard ..."
I didn't need to know who the pilot was ...Name Forgotten , the Canadian.

An icy chill shot up my spine.
The boys started to talk softly ...
It was with horror, that I let the story soak in.

"Most of us heard it Duke , on the HF, all over New Guinea."
" SIL was at ten thousand , climbing out over Nadzab , the wing caught fire ... He tried frantically to get to ground before the wing burned off .. His call on HF was backgrounded by the natives screaming in the back .. the wing burned off."

People screaming ... HF .. . back at the pass ... I had heard a nightmare.

[Animalclub]

Duke
You're bringing back memories... and names!!

[Duke Elegant]

Quite a few years later , I was on the other side of the world , wasting my day away at my home airport airport in Canada. Next to me was a young airline first officer that was in the process of leaving aviation. I told him of the story about what I'd heard on the HF radio in another far away country and the crash of the Aztec that I'd so wontanly coverted.

He asked me to stay put and went home and returned with his church news letter. It told of a Christian aircraft engineer that had sought solace in the church so that he could live with his terrible mistake when , along time ago in a foreign land, he had only hand tightened the fuel injector nozzles (or a fitting , I don't remember) during a maintaince check.

It is also sad that faulty design was apparent in that the turbochargers on a C model Aztec are at the bottom of the engine where any small fuel leak can lead to a fire. Turbochargers are better placed atop the engine as is today's practice.

I hope the engineer has since healed the gaping wound in his soul. I know the church was there for him all the way.

I forgave him many years ago.

[CAT1]

Excellent stories! Haven't read anything this good for ages! When's the book coming out?

That problem with Aztec turbochargers is familiar: had a fire once while spraying tsetse flies in Zambia caused by a fuel leak, luckily only a few minutes from home.

[Duke Elegant]

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.

[Duke Elegant]

Yes. A love affair was indeed about to blossom.

You see I was with my girlfriend , Heidi, a luciously endowed Germanically blonde hostie. We lazed on the beach at Surfers Paradise , and on a surfboard, I dazzled nobody .. I was outdone by the expert youths of the day. I had a huge wad. Of cash that is.

At night, I showed her no mercy.

We walked into the well lit hangar right by the paint shop. It was love at first sight.

There she sat ... the buxom little Aztec ... prop spinners protruding slightly upwards ..and forward like ... well you know ...
The masking tape was being removed and the new stripes were crisp and oil free for the short term. Our company name, CHIMBU TRADERS LTD was in small letters above the door.

I had bought her over the phone... From her madam. She was an old Bush Pilot Airways plane and had been ridden hard and put away wet.

But I wiped her ... lots. I wiped the oozing lubricants from her skin ... and from the cracks....
But she had some cellulite .. she wasn't perfect ... hail dimples ...
She had been gone over by a good bush engineer as I had requested.

I paid the money . She was now my old whore in a new dress.

We flew North from Sydney along the beaches of New South Wales and into Queensland , my home state.

It was a threesome ..VH-BPW , Heidi ...and me. The light bumpy air made her tits jiggle so.

Up along the Barrier Reefs sparkling like fire opals and emerelds .. over the hundreds of miles of cattle country .. the endless sugar cane fields and still North along the jungle draped coast... and across the straight between Thursday Island and Daru , on the Southern Coast of Papua New Guinea.

Now, the rugged and wild beauty did offer solace .... I had two throaty Lycomings taking me back to a country that quickened the pulse , throbbing to the danger.

March 1972


I cruised high above the mouth of the Fly River and above Kikori too. I could see North , maybe a hundred miles or so, to the awesome spine of this rugged , but luscious country. I could just see the white speck of the Baimuru Hotel , conjouring up scenes in my mind , like a Bogart movie ... Casablanca .. African Queen ... the Crab and Mutt.

Behind me , in Australia was a career that I had left at the altar. Uniforms, rules, checklists, overnights in the same place for the thirtieth time this year...how many times would I have to sit in the right seat .. Brisbane-Sydney-Melbourne..... Melbourne- Sydney - Brisbane ... and so on .. and so on..
In the right seat .. looking left to a bored guy I didn't really like .. and then twenty years later ... left seat looking right to a boring guy I didn't really like....
I didn't want to look ahead twenty years as I had done in the Army. As a young well schooled and skilled Lieutenant, I walked into the Officers mess at lunch time. There at the bar were grumpy old Majors hunched over their drinks at the bar all sharing bulbous scotch soaked red noses .. expressionless ... they didn't like we youngin's...

Not for me ...
I had to satisfy the hunger in my soul.

The smooth , throbbing Lycomings took me to the heart and very soul of this mysterious land ... The Land Where They Turned Back Time.

Behind my left wing now, was Kikori . I had been there with Maurie Young , a mercenary Canadian art dealer and procurer for a musuem in New York or anybody else ... whoever had the dough.
Instead of me waiting in the villiage for his canoe flotilla to return bearing heaps of artifacts , he invited me along in the long thin hollowed log canoe to which was attatched a long shafted Seagull outboard.

These canoes only had a slit in which to put your feet , one behind the other .. they rolled easilly and required balance .
Up river we sped .. wakeless .. slicing through the muddy brown Kikori river .. up to a villiage rumoured to have an Agiba , a skull rack... painted and decorated skulls on a series of posts in ascending order, depending on the importance of these slain enemies the bodies of whom would have been eaten. Maurie and I were hunkered down for balance and I got an urge to stand up like our helmsmen. I wobbled drunkenly to my feet and stood at last, the stale dank air against my sweating face.
We came around a bend in the river .....

I gasped at the sight...

[tinpis]

Uniforms, rules, checklists, overnights in the same place for the thirtieth time this year...how many times would I have to sit in the right seat .. Brisbane-Sydney-Melbourne..... Melbourne- Sydney - Brisbane ... and so on .. and so on..


Mwaaaa...Duke I didnt realise you worked for Ansett? :}

[no reds]

Duke
your spirit kept you fuelled during the dark times, I`m sure it will again.
take care you aviator

"wrong names" . . . some years ago leaving Glasgow in an Otter the sunset was so beautiful I ignored every sensible rule and started to wax lyricle on the pa - unfortunately I called Loch Lomond Loch Ness and the ensuing kerfuffle did nothing for anybodies dignity . .

[no reds]

pps
I bought a croc wallet in the reception of a good African hotel to get away from the guy really - and thought no more about it.
6 months later it was stinking like a drain - 18 months later it smelled like a leather jacket from Harrods . . . why is that ?

[Duke Elegant]

Also rounding the bend and speeding downriver was a war canoe.... the paddlers stabbing at the water to a menacing war chant ... . all in perfect unison ... they were all feathered and painted up with spears and bows across their backs .. they stood upright ... a question of balance. They too, saw a a sight. A crazy white man standing in the forward part of the canoe... arms stretched outwards like wings ... they faltered .. and looked .. only to be barked at by the coxwain .. and they returned to the rythmic chants. It was from their villiage that Maurie tried to buy their Agiba. These people frightened me... the elders held out on the Agiba but I got to see it. Maurie filled the freighter canoe with purchased artifacts and we sped downstream back to the Cessna 182.

The Aztec provided the vibrating syncronic buzz . Heidi gazed out of the starboard window and I gazed at her softly heaving bosom ... I felt a stir in my loins....




Maybe an hour out of Goroka ... abeam Karimui, where we had a trade store, and where I had made the legless man dance ....flying higher and more effortlessly than I had in the Cessna ... to Paradise. The Bird of Paradise , that is , the pub.

In this Shrine of Aviation , bullsh*t was the intellectual mainstay of the era. But I had a new whore and I was proud.

The next two years of flying were spectacular ... dipping down into the mouth of the extinct volcano on Lab Lab island , flying down a chain of islands , strung like pearls , down to the Solomons .. and Guadacanal , a scene from World War II where we explored wreckages of Hellcats , Corsairs , zeros and half submerged landing craft , peppered with bullet holes.
Wow! A TBM Avenger ...one day I would fly one of these.

Heidi had returned to Australia leaving me in despair.

Well ... not for long...

I smuggled dogs , chicken eggs and of course , croc skins. The dog smuggling had earned a new knickname for the old Aztec , Bravo Papa Woof.
Most of the hosties at the mess knew of my deeds , I told them so. I traded tales of daring doo for passionate interludes.

But one day, I saw a vision.

I had been summoned to the airport by the Operations Manager of Territory Airlines , and, says he "You won't believe what you will see."

She strolled the lawn at the terminal ... in a silky dress flowing like a watercolour in the rain .. but you could see through it .. just enough. And a flower in her hair .. a backpack .. and a smile. The cautious but gathering crowd of natives could see through the dress too ... and I sensed danger ... she had to be saved .. and Gadzooks!!! .. the Duke was for once in the right place at the right time.
"You can't stay here." says I, as I dare to touch this flowering Goddess on the arm to lead her away to my Land Rover."Where are you from?" I ask .. gulping as I catch a glimpse of a nipple perched at the end of a shapely little brown ski-jump shaped breast... "The Year of The Cat" she whispers .. a brown leg escaping through a slit in the Thai-dyed hippie dress, as she glides into the Land Rover.

"Come with me , child." says the Duke.

[tinpis]

Har har har....you .....you... FORNICATOR !

[Duke Elegant]

You woulda too tinpis.

You have in your possession a picture of this Godess I believe.

On top of the Daulo Pass.

I sit here with a picture of Baby Jane in my hands. Baby Jane .. at least I had revealed her name. I had learned some of her language too , like "far out" and "coool."

I did not, however , find out the location of the planet from which she came.

The picture shows us at the summit of the Daulo Pass , a very dangerous place to be but this flower child was oblivious to the stares of the Chimbu warriors. She waved flowers at them all with a large dimpled smile that would make a strong man lose his mind.



She may have been a "toad licker" from Kuranda. They were a group of hippies that discovered that by licking the poisonous glands on the back of a toad , interplanetary travel became possible , and cheap too.

Here comes the missus ... gotta cover me tracks .. . and hide the picture ... drives her nuts catching me with my old piccies.

[no reds]

. . taking the piss plainly, but the sex I`m really not sure about . . . suspect female but shaves occasionaly ?

[Chaffers]

Great stories dude. :ok:

Hope George McDonald Fraser dosn't sue when you're published.

All the best....

[Duke Elegant]

I had learned the Rules of Business very quickly in New Guinea.

1. Winner takes all
2. Every man for himself
3. Spend big when you have heaps ....

So I did ....and I learned how to deal the Jack from the back of the pack. But there were times that bought you down to earth .. and back in time.

The biggest event of the year was the Goroka Sing Sing. They came by the thousands, some walking for a week from remote villages. It was a four day walk up to 8000 feet just to cross the Daulo Pass. It was a four hour drive to cross, and , as my log book shows , a thirteen minute flight from Goroka to Kundiwa.
They came to compete for the prize , a herd of cattle.

It was an event that drummed into your soul ..never to be forgotten.

We whiteys were outnumbered one hundred to one. We did not fear these people for the most part as they could hardly unite to overthrow the government because the seven hundred tribes were small and didn't like each other.

They took up to a day to prepare ... spectacular Bird of Paradise head - dresses. The Whagi wigmen adorned in their human hair anvil shaped wigs and carved bone nose pieces... the Asaro mud men , in their oversize , white mud helmets and pasted with a mixtute of white ash and mud .. and the Kuku Kuku s .. they were small bark cloaked warriors ... the most feared of all.

All the women struggled about with heavy loads in their Bilum bags on their swayed backs , supported by the forehead. Loads of kids, sweet potatos and pigs to trade , or eat on the road to the show.

And what a show it was.

We sat in the makeshift bleachers with the local constabulary close at hand. They were there not to protect us .. they were scared.

Shrill postmen's whistles gather a tribe for their turn for the dance past the judges ... amid shouts and chants of excitement. They shuffled into lines of maybe ten and held the long bamboo poles to keep the lines spaced. Ten rows ... all identically adorned and painted in their tribal markings. The drumming started , the war chants sent the shiver up my spine .. a warm shiver .

They approach .. pounding the snakeskin kundu drums .. earth trembling as they drive their feet into the ground when orchestrated to do so. Dust rising , except where the patches of blood red betel nut had been spat ... like blood .. everywhere.
With the unison of a choir their voices rise up to a crescendo then down to imitate the drumbeats .. pounding .. a hundred warriors only feet away ..spears , bows and arrows .. I can smell them now .. not unpleasant ... a pig grease and smoke mixture. Two pounding steps forward , one back ..they are in a trance ... so am I.

Then came the Kainantu's and the Bena Benas and the tribe from Bhundi and Marawaka .. and the Chimbus..

We lived a luxurious lifestyle. Lobsters , fish and fresh produce , mostly free. Exotic cars and a change of girlfriend every six months as the flight attendants rotated through the New Guinea adventure. Often we would get ten or so flighties to deadhead to Goroka from Lae and float down the Bena Bena river on rafts made of lashed inner tubes, through the villiages , to a BBQ already set up by our house boys downstream at the waterfall.
OOOOH! How moist they got.

I witnessed tribal fights and marriage feasts where 200 pigs were slaughtered with glee. Trips up to Angoram where people lived in grass houses perched on stilts out over the river...

Once we chartered a DC3 and filled 'er up with hosties and a jazz band and went to a plantation Ball .. the band entertained us enroute.

But a dark political cloud loomed on the horizon. They were to be given independance and ALL companies had to have "native participation". The red necks called the natives rock apes which I found to be offensive. If I was to have a partner , he was to be my "branch manager".
The feds were closing in on me too ... it was time to flee.

I will never forget the day of my departure .. to South Africa .. or Canada .. somewhere where flying was still an adventure.
I drove a friends Land Rover to the airport. Coming the other peddalling fast on his bike was my houseboy , Bin.
As soon as he saw it was me he bailed from the bike leaving it to crash into the market ..
he wailed and cried. I quickly took off my watch and gave it to him .. I would miss him dearly. He had taught the language to me.

I settled into my seat on the F27 after a hearty send-off from my friends. Next to me was a Bena Bena girl. She wore a Meri dress and I saw her blue tribal markings fanning back from her eyes to her tight curly hairline. I waved at my friends , then turned to her.
"Yupella go long bigpella harp long balus long Port Moresby?" I had asked if she was going to Port Moresby on this plane. I waited for her Pidgin reply.
"No actually," she said in well bred perfect English, "I am going to Melbourne, back to Monash University." She flashed a large pearly smile to difuse my indiscretion.

We chatted excitedly as Meg Taylor informed me of her intention, to become a lawyer.

Years later her picture appeared on the cover of National Geographic , playing polo. She was New Guinea's first woman lawyer.
And later yet. I was flying a Turbo Beaver for a logging company in Canada that was to get a visit from New Guinea's US Ambassador.. Meg Taylor.

I left that land astern.
The Country Where They Turned Back Time.

[tinpis]

Ah...the Goroka Gumi Ball.... the Banz races...thieving haus bois.....

Then as you said Duke along comes Goof and promises them Independence and within 20 years the place is a basket case.

:{

[Duke Elegant]

We were inbound to the mine. Upstream that is. The mighty Iskut River has been laid to rest for the winter, cloaked in its shroud of snow and ice. Icy water flowed in her veins beneath .... she was still a dangerous viper.

We had aboard , sixteen hundred gallons of stinking diesel fuel to feed the mine's thirst of 4500 gallons per day. This was the return trip from Wrangell , Alaska , where we had flown the three huge bags of gold concentrate with a total weight of ten thousand pounds. The C117's two Wright 1820's growled away in unison , as we scooted along beneath a grey overcast.

Past the confluence of the Stikine and the Iskut Rivers we flew .Directly East now ... into the teeth of the wind.
"Delta Oscar Golf .. Hoodoo 1500 feet inbound" reports Rob as we both look left , up the steep draw ... to the HOODOO Glacier.The descending cold air from the glacier T-boned us with thumping , wallowing turbulence.

Around the corner , flying slightly East South East now we see the narrow gap through which we must fly in order to see the strip at Bronson Creek which will appear suddenly to our right.
But we are not at the gap yet. We are searching the river .. racing quickly through our check list in order to do so. I crowd the south bank . Visibility out of a Super DC3 is poor unless you bank the generous wing and engine cowl downward but then the sheer mountains on the other shore stare you down .. I bank away just as I caught a glimpse ..

It is easier to see the wreckage in the spring when the yellow and green metal lies awash in gravel. But today the cold East wind bares some of the remains ... already at the gap now and the wide gravel strip appears to Starboard ... Rob looks up the strip for any taxiing traffic ...checks completed with a quiet reverence ...into the widening bowl for the 270 degree turn to final. Gross weight ... slightly high on purpose .. even though a perfect approach to an uphill sloped runway looks high...Lots of power on .. not too much though , I don't want to rely a whole lot on power , some of which can vanish when you need it. Height is easy to get rid of in a loaded freighter ... but you don't want to set up a sink rate .

"V Ref plus ten" I have time to sync the props ...may as well make it perfect." V Ref plus five" calls Rob. Touchdown any second .. she squats softly onto the big oleos as the soft big tires touch the gravel with a slight check forward to keep the tail proudly poised...Eighty knots .. there are shapes in the snowbank .. out of the corner of my eye... to the left. Snow covered blobs . five or six . I am not counting now as I slowly lower the tail and slow down without use of brakes , uphill , engines idling up to the pumpout station. I exchange my fox -furlined gloves for the stinking diesel pair .. I ponder for a moment.

Donny never had a chance. The burning engine had already fallen off when the skilled Captain bellied the DC4 onto the gravel bar in flames. A mile or two short , he was . He wasn't quite at the gap yet and then a viscous right bank would have been required to line up with the suddenly appearing runway which was tough with everything going for you. He made a decision and saved his crew.

The brave Captain was missing , presumed drowned. Donny couldn't swim. The crew crossed the cold river and survived.

Back to work . have to unload the fuel , load three big frozen 3000 lb bags of gold concentrate bound for Wrangell , Alaska and do it all over again.

[Duke Elegant]

It was the demise of the DC4 that had brought us here , to a place of rare , spectacular beauty that was rarely appreciated as it was usually lashed by rains in the fall and cloaked in heavy snow in the winter. On a clear day , Johhny Mountain stood like a sentinel above all with its beard of driven snow whisping off the top , driven by the constant winter winds.

We were new at the mine. We had completed a couple of trips but we certainally were'nt broken in yet. The miners and administrators were a tight bunch so friendships would be hard won. I had to deal with the management of the Snip gold mine and we felt somewhat unwelcome as we hashed out an agreement and signed up.

It sounded so simple. Each trip was to fly three concentrate bags, each weighing 3000 pounds , to Wrangell , Alaska , and either return with groceries or diesel fuel.

I quickly phoned HQ and told the Operations Manager of our contract and to have the Chief Pilot hire two more Captains. I knew that I would soon train Rob as a Captain but I would have to hog a lot of the initial flying as I felt I was a rookie here. I wasn't comfortable myself yet. Maybe thats how I got to 18,000 hours.

There was a procedure in place at the mine and we chose to conform as it had taken years and many accidents to cement them in place.
Pushed back from the strip and behind the snowbank were remains of a DC4 , DC3 , Bristol Freighter , Beech 18 , a single Otter and more .

We were REALLY paying attention. To Dave Menzies that is. He was partner in and Captain of the Bristol Freighter.
Hawkair.
They were a competing company with years of seniority ahead of us.

They had been here for years and had seen it all. He explained the procedures in Wrangel Alaska , customs , loading , circuit procedures and most of all , radio reporting points.

This man and Donny , the Bristol engineer quickly gained our respects.
They weren't going to spoon feed us however.

After all , we were all there for the Gold .

[angels]

I'm glad this has been made a sticky.

Tales of derring-do from a world a million miles from mine.

My father is ex-RAF and used to knock around SE Asia in the 1940s with little fellas trying to shoot him. I know he'll love your book Duke.

Keep up the yarns mate and keep fighting the fight.

[Duke Elegant]

,

There was plenty of flying to go around. Days were short in the middle of winter so the backlog of con bags grew rapidly. Over two thousand bags to go .. two airplanes carrying three bags per trip each ... months for us.

Now throw in some sh*t weather and lots of breakdowns.

Just when you thought things couldn't get worse ... it does.

It was like living in an aviation biosphere.

It was supposed to be a remote mining camp but a camp it was not. More on this later.

There were no roads.

Aviation was its life link.

If you braved the biting , stinging wind and the driven snow you could walk down the side of the airstrip , past the crashed hulks to a temporary hangar that housed a hovercraft. It was built in my home town in Australia.

Four huge turbo diesels propelled this Banshee wailing behmoth at a great rate of knots downstream to a drop off point down by the power station at the confluence of the Stikine and the Iskut. 30 bags at a time... wow!..nothing could compete with it. Nothing.

It scared the living sh*t out of any animal that dared live within its aural range of terror. I think it was the Native community who finally were rewarded by its withdrawal from active duty. It sure was an impressive beast.

But there it sat idled in its own hangar and cloaked in politics.

[Animalclub]

Duke
I'm enjoying your tales. I know most of the PNG players... but was Captain Seiko Jimmy B with TN?

[flapsforty]

People, there are times when all 3 JB Mods are otherwise engaged in real time, and do not have time to do more than skim the forum and check if any posts have been 'reported to Moderator'.
Yesterday was one of those days.
A very offensive post was put on this thread. We didn't see it and the 'Report this post to a moderator' button was apparently U/S.

One member did take action and another forum's Moderator thankfully called our attention to it in the Admin forum. So today that post got removed.
With the new server online this weekend you can again use the button in place for just such occurences instead of sending a mail or PM.

Of course with the after-the-fact moderating system we have here, we will never catch all of the idiots all of the time and that is the price we pay for the instant access that makes the place lively and vibrant.

Duke, apologies and we trust that this one idiotic posts will not deprive us of further stories.

[Duke Elegant]

.

When we had first arrived they showed us to our quarters.

There were four beds in shacks with a bathroom ...that is all.
Diesel heated....by the sweat of yer own balls.... flown in all day.

You were a "contractor" ...... second class. We were in no union.

The miners had their own room with phone and internet connection. And access to a library, pool room and a bar in a chalet ... a huge rock fireplace ... a french lady bartender .....
They were clean , well behaved and self policed. Well paid too.

The dining room was a thing of beauty .. the walls of which were adorned with the most exquisite airborne photographs known to mankind. By Captain Grant Webb. Killed in action , Bronson creek... a DC3 .... on his last flight , and he was heading home.

It is rumoured that his last words were , "Watch this!."

Even the more senior of the contractors, Hawkair , did not enjoy the priveledge of the single rooms in the main building.

We were knee deep in snow around the huts , most of the time. Early darkness , cold brutal wind and exhaustion drove us into these huts to collapse onto the bunk and regain enough energy to reach under the cot for the Scotch bottle. Not much had to be said to recount how tough it had been that day, Frustration was the order of the day.Whining ? Never .

Our new wing covers didn't fit properly and flapped wildly all night. The Herman Nelson crapped out. Runups weren't going well , no oil pressure on the guage. Burned out winch. Snow . Wind , frozen levers. We had brought this old girl from down South where the climate was moist and now it was twenty below.


The owner of the company was there at the beginning. Mike was his name. The dimensions of his cranium qualified him to be the Germanic man he was. Stubborn , tough , brilliant with his hands .. and mind too.

Then we met our future engineer. He was already in the camp . He was on the DC4 that crashed and had made it to shore along with the co-pilot , Dan.

His eyes were too close together and he drank too much. He had lots of DC3 and DC4 experience and immediately started solving some of our problems. We learned lots from him as in the case of the oil pressure guages. The oil was too cold and thick to make its way up to the guage through a thin line. The guage was unhooked and thin hydraulic oil was injected therein. Never had a problem with that again.

He hung about with the Bristol crew most of the time.
He was seen at closing time every night clutching three rum'n'cokes .. pig-eyed.

We hadn't flown for days. Heavy snow . We would shower and trudge to the mess hall. Huge , clean . cozy ... and the best food imaginable. Then to the Chalet with its huge fireplace and a cute lady bar manager. The miners were very well behaved and policed themselves. There was always an underlying tension in the bar between our crew and the Bristol guys.
But generally respectful of each other ... yes ..they had lots of talent .. so did we. Generally we remained in groups.

It was the very weather that kept us grounded that made maintainence a brutally painful task. We had no choice. Captains did not lounge about the mess hall.
There was always something to do.

Often during the day, especially if the wind died a little , we would drive down the road parrallel to the runway , down hill to the Iskut. To the windsock ....

Rock solid ..40 knots .. bareley a flicker .. its open gaping mouth facing up the Iskut .. up to the plateau upon which was the airstrip at Bob Quinn Lake , 2000 feet above sea level. The cold East winds up on the plateau all gathered together and sped up as they squeezed themselves into the steep sided , narrowing Iskut on their rush to the sea to meet the savage warm wet blasts of the Pacific.... freezing rain downstream. Turbulence ...
The truck trembled in the blast.
"Did you see that?" it had dropped a little .. maybe five knots.
We were too eager. Chill out ..

I could see that you had to have whiskers to fly here.

.

The outline of another truck appears in the driven snow ... they sit and watch the windsock too . It still doesn't move.
It is the Bristol crew... hunched over their coffees ...

They too , want to aviate.

But we drive back up to the ever humming camp .

There was an ingenious device for use by all that made engine maintainence cozier .. called a nose hangar. It was built by a bloke named Speers , he later went on to be a Westjet Captain .. he flew DC4 back then.
With corrugated iron bolted onto an angle iron frame it could be wheeled up to and surround an engine and even provide a catwalk. A curtain then zipped up and a Herman Nelson could be plugged in for comfy warmth.

It got to be a favourite meeting place.. like a secret society ...cozy. Mike had designed and built a tray system with rollers and a huge winch to lug the 3000 lb bags up the hill of the Super DC3.
We were eager to try it. And the diesel tank system too .. all plumbed , waiting for the inaugral flight.

And we were to be tested , yet ,too.

We wandered about , checking breakers for all the heaters plugged in ...around batteries , oil tanks and the cylinders.
The huge Bristol was all rugged up too.
Wing and tail covers were a beast to remove and put on in a wind.

They wandered aimlessly too. .the Bristol Crew.

It had been a week now. No let up.
The cooks would now start quizzing us as to the likelihood of a grocery trip .. running low, they say.
The miners quizzed us on the likelihood of a trip. They were running short of explosives.
Crew change day approached for the miners. Now things get interesting and tense. The miners want to go home , really bad. I understand how they feel , its been a long shift.

The weather is hopeless.....people wandering the camp start looking upwards .. at nothing ...just leaden skies.
If a rare blue hole above scurried by someone would run into the mess exclaiming, "Through to the blue .... its opening up"

It didn't.Even if we did take off , Wrangel was pooched .. freezing rain , thirty knot crosswind.
A mere sixty mile trip could subject you to thirty below temperature at departure , through a cauldron of turbulence , warming temperatures , freezing rain , slush , snow pellets , fog.
Only to do the reverse and take off in rain and fly a wet airplane into thirty below again ..

Yet we wanted to fly.

[SawThe Light]

Duke,

I salute you sir for your amazingly tolerant response to that bloody clown the other day.

Keep up your fight aviator. Don't give an inch (or should that be 2.54 cm?). There's so much, much more you must share with us.

STL

[tinpis]

Hey thanks Flaps...but nuthin is gonna stop me old mate tha Duke.

[Duke Elegant]

.

It was customary , if there was a chance of flying , to arise before dawn , chow down and get the snow and wing covers off..... wishful thinking . The dark night slipped away , but , alas , we were imprisoned now by a heavy , wet fog. We then struggled to put the massive wing covers back on to prevent that killer ice from sneaking back on.

We wandered aimlessly about.... peering upward.... as did the Bristol crew.


Crew change was late .. the three Beech 1900s couldn't make it... we were WOXOF. Tense .. miners who want to go home .. "Whadya think?" was the question we were bombarded with. as they too wandered about.

Finally the cry went up " Through to the blue!" as huge blue holes appeared above the camp. We knew the Beechcraft were on the way , to auger down through the hole. The arriving crews were not as elated as those embarking for the trip home.
One Beech 1900 stood alone , and carried few people.

It had a load though .. strongboxes...

PURE GOLD!

Wrangel was still crapped out so we watched the Beechcraft depart.
Then we got the word. She's a GO. Covers off , Herman Nelson heaters roaring , chords being rolled up , the 966 loader bringing the con bags for loading. Walkarounds , fuel samples , Herc straps , the winch grinding away slowly hauling the heavy load up hill for tie down ... and ... CRACK! .. a fitting lets go and the tray with its 3000 lb bag slides downhill on its icy palet skids and slams into the bag only recently placed in the lobby. Otherwise it would have smashed into the rear bulkhead.....and I'd have been kicking horseturds down the road. We untangle the mess with palet jacks and come-alongs and eventually tie down all three bags. The Bristol was long gone leaving us to eat the dust of their departure.

The Wrights rumble into life and reach temps quickly thanks to the heaters and Hermans.
I align the airplane with the runway , pointing down to the Iskut where soon I would slam into the wind at 90 degrees ..I hoped to have 110 knots by then ... and I should be climbing.
The tailwheel is locked so I push the throttles up , really not needing to correct for torque ... I was in no hurry as the airplane accelerated downhill very comfortably. Past the wrecks , and I tug her up into a climb right over the hovercraft shack ... already banking right. .And carving a path around the inside of the bowl edged by steep mountains.. runway always in sight to my left .. just in case ......

.

The battering wind down at the Iskut had let us off lightly.

Past the strip and Westbound through the gap. We flew at last.
The synchronic buzz warmed the soul .
Then the heater quit.
If one generator fails , the heater automatically shuts down. It gets cold fast.
It is not my well being that is foremost on my mind. Wrangell is cold and raining and blowing. I need a defroster. Its warming to fifteen below zero now.

These are the longest sixty mile flights in history.

Past the pummelling winds from the Hoodoo to the low visibility , ragged mist hanging in the trees as the air warms , and gets wetter as the Stikine River joins us from the North.

Lower we fly.

The valley has widened somewhat as we turn left around the old power station and right again toward the sea. The wind has spread out ... smoother now.
The cargo straps have loosened and Rob clambers back to snug them prior to the confusing wind at the mouth of the now conjoined rivers.
I am relieved at the rapidly warming cockpit ... but it chills me. In an instant freezing rain appearing on the prop spinners , windshield and wings.
The engines throb beautifully.

"Can you see the ridge on your side?" I question Rob , as I stare left to see the ridge protruding across our path on my side.
"Not yet." was his terse reply. The visibility got worse . .. right at the wrong time.
Menzies had warned me about this place ... squeezed by two low ridges appearing out of nowhere .. rarely do you get to fly over them.
The frozen windshield didn't help either.

The bar had been our simulator.
And beer was the golden viscous lubricator that was the common denominator between two crews from opposing commercial operators.
In detail , Menzies walked us through the sixty mile trip and left no confusion in our minds.
But confused we usually became , when Menzies related one of his tales as a submariner .. he was a brilliant storyteller.

But now in the darkening cockpit , darkened by rain .. sleet ..fog...
So far it is exactly as the experienced aviator had us believe. We report our position at the required checkpoints but it is Wrangell Airport that we seek on the radio.
We hardly see the ridges as we rumble by to the delta. Usually we can climb up from our 200 feet altitude here only to be greeted by a raging cauldron of lumpy air.

The airplane bucks , the wind driving her spurs into the flanks .. the bags loosen ...I wrestle with the controls.
Wrangell reports a fifty degree crosswind ... twenty knots. And it's coming from Summer Strait so over the mountains it will tumble.
The big airplane is askew on final .. lurching ... bucking.
The into wind wheel chirps on loudly ... quick as I can .. the other .. and pin it. Pin it hard and saw at the rudder pedals to keep straight in the gusts. And lots of downwind brakes too.
In fact , the brakes were cherry red.
Not good.

Next ... paperwork.

[Duke Elegant]

.

The customs guys in Wrangell were a decent bunch and there was a trust built up between the Snip Mine people and the US government. It was a trust that not one of our pilots was willing to barter. Generally , loading and unloading went smoothly , that is until we rookies showed up.

Roller trays with a 3000 lb load going sideways , leaking vents on our diesel tanks and that overheated brake ...these problems paled in comparison to the worsening weather.

Because our diesel tank leaked it was not feasible to carry fuel so we got to hand-bomb about eight thousand pounds of groceries needed desperately by the cooking staff.
We sweat as we slip on the stinking diesel spilled on the floor... uphill , four tons we strap down.We take on fuel for about four trips and resort to furious weight and balance calculations. Refuelling is a hazardous task atop a trembling wing blasted with wet Pacific air.

The Bristol has gone ... we must hurry.
The right brake sticks a little but seems to be less effective on take off .... just when I need it to counteract the hammering croswind from the left.
The heavilly laden beast is pinned on with forward control column pressure , tail level , she fights me ... wanting to turn her snout into the wind , where she would be more comfortable. The dark , wet runway determines our required track , the bich fights me but I get my way .. tracking the centreline ... dead straight.
I tug slightly and she unsticks .. and gets her way as I let her nose swing into the wind as we claw our way to fifteen hundred feet.

Through horizontal rain we fly toward the mouth of the Stikine and our bout with turbulence which shakes the cargo down under ever loosening straps. Rob lurches from side to side trying to tighten the Herc straps. I need him up front .. lower I fly .. now the soft sleet slips by .. shrouding the two protruding ridges through which I must aviate. I need Rob up here , to peer into the lowering visibility , to follow our progres on the map , to operate the GPS that I stab repeatedly and missing the buttons in the rough air. He has to do our landing calculations , finish the weight and balance and fill out the logbook from the last trip.... after all he was too busy in Wrangell.

.

And return , he does , laden with Snickers bars , fresh peaches and smoked oysters.
Perhaps five hundred feet now but our speed over the ground slows , as we encounter the cold moaning winds from up on the plateau.
We stuff food into our hungry mouths , missing the hole more often than not in the turbulence , as we rumble by the ridges with not a lot of room. A left turn , then a right takes us up the Iskut , leaving the Stikine coursing northward.
Snow showers now but some blue holes above.

Colder. No heater... chilly , the moisture from our sweat now driving into the body , and anywhere that there was wetness ... now frost .. then ice. Inside the arplane that is.

Rob calls camp at Hoodoo , the glacier now visible atop the steep draw .. spectacular! And the fishcamp .. through the narrows where we catch our first glimpse of the strip upon which we must alight.
What a trip , sixty miles each way.

We labouriously unload the cargo.
The Cat966 loader appears at the lobby ... with a bag of concentrate on the forks.
"The Bristol crew think they can get three more trips in" he says.

We are veterans now

[Pilgrim101]

Duke,

I have spent some time reviewing your posts in this thread and would like to express my gratitude. Your amazing life / experience is only twinned with tremendous dignity that shines through in your writing - maybe you missed another vocation there ?:ok:

[DrSyn]

Well, there went another early night I had promised myself! My son drew my attention to this thread late yesterday evening. It has been a pleasure reading your captivating narratives, Duke, and I look forward to placing your book on my "top shelf."

I pray that you win your battle.

[Duke Elegant]

.

The engineer ambled about , rolling up chords , clinking about in his tool box , generally doing things he had all day to do.

Rob and I wrestled the three huge bags uphill on their trolleys with an overheated winch and strapped them down. We were sweating in the chilly air and our breaths fogged the windshield. We probably only had one generator so the defroster was not an option. The weak brake troubled me.

Sure it had been getting worse over the last four months as it countered crosswinds in Masset and Sandspit from where we hauled live crabs to Vancouver. But it sure was bad at the wrong time.

I heard the doors thump shut and Rob locked the handle but out my window I could see Piggy the Engineer heading for the mess hall.
He walked right by the wheel that was only half rebuilt. It hadn't been touched all day.

The Bristol was long gone. He had his diesel fuel pumped out quickly and with three con bags took off for Wrangell just ahead of the huge cloud of snow and dirt with it's engines performing flawlessly.

On our return trip we were to bring back a full load of groceries ... a back breaking nightmare.
We rumbled down the Iskut , past Hoodoo , past the confluence with The Stikine and through the squeezing ridges. We had heard the Bristol call here.... low level .. at The Shakes.

The bags shook down and the straps loosened as we thumped through the turbulence as we hit the warm coastal air .. only to land with full on but ineffective right brake.
Once again , it didn't take the Bristol Freighter very long to pump in the diesel and roar off Eastbound as Rob and I humped five tons of groceries .. up the hill.
Some with the winch , some by hand.

The inflight meal as we flew Eastward into the cold , biting air , was smoked oysters , as we tore into a few boxes to find the crackers.

We were on the bleeding edge of technology.

.

The Bristol was off on her third trip when I landed. The uphill strip precluded the use of brakes but I knew , when I turned at the top , that I was licked.

The brakes were pooched. Piggy ambled by conveniently after we had unloaded the groceries. I couldn't even finish telling him of our difficulty when he started blubbering excitedly about todays decision by the mine management to bring in a DC4 from Alaska under a temporary Operating Certificate.
It was to arrive before dark.

The wind had died down somewhat and the weather improved just as my airplane was not flyable any more.

The Bristol did a final trip and was buttoned up, wing covers on and plugged with heaters. Things were going well for them and they eagerly awaited the arrival of the DC4. They knew the crew from previous contracts.

Piggy babbled on about about how they required his services and that from now on he was to collect two paychecks , one from us and one from the DC4 company. His eyes seemed even closer together than before.

M3 engineers were scarce and he knew it.

I had to stop the left jab that was on its way to the side of his snout with a planned follow-up right overhand clubbing punch to the ear.
Instead , I stared into his tiny raisin-like eyes.
I had to think fast.
And I did.

[Duke Elegant]

Now that I have you hanging, here are some pictures (http://www.avcanada.ca/forums/viewtopic.php?topic=5000&forum=1) .
Please feel free to comment.

[LowNSlow]

No problem in an Auster but I really wouldn't fancy it in a DC-3 or a Bristol :ooh: :ooh:

[angels]

Yip, that's better Duke. Great stuff from brown trouser territory!

Love the picture of the Dak -- one of my favourite planes.

[pigboat]

Great pics Duke.
Dunno about you, but I'd be going through a couple pairs of shorts a trip.;)
That CMA DC-3 Looks Like AAM, one of Austin's old machines.

[Rhodie]

Great pictures Duke - and thanks, Mzunga..!!

After reading all the stories, it is certainly great to see the 'scene of many crimes...'

Now, Iv'e landed on some pretty dodgy cattle paths in Africa, but I will NEVER complain again...!

Keep it strong Duke :ok:

Cheers
R

[Duke Elegant]

.

I already knew that this pig-eyed sack of useless primordal cells was lazy and for the moment very cocky. He'd squeeled with delight at the thought of bigger US dollars from the DC4... and how can you work for two opposing companies anyway?

And he certainly was untroubled by anything so inconvenient as a scruple.

I glanced at the half finished wheel assembly... and at my wounded airplane. I thought with intensity. .... and like a flash..

My mind raced back a month or two when I remember something Suzy Secretary said to me .. She was a loyal secretary to our company ... and me.
She would often give me shelter from the storm...
"These contract employees have to pay their own Workers Compensation payments" she purred, as I feigned interest in the topic whilst marvelling at her form.

In place of the left jab I postulated to the slacker , "I phoned Suzie when I was in Wrangell and it seems we have a problem with your WCB payments which opened up a can of worms with the tax department and all this crap with your ex wife ... blah .. blah .. blah .. blah".

He went slackjawed as his receding chin dropped into his sunken chest. He folded his hand to the master. I knew nothing of which I had spoken.... all bluff... and more..

"You will sign out all work till I find a replacement" I bargained from a newfound position of strength. Everybodys attention was diverted by the arrival of the DC4 from Alaska. Piggy's trotters were a blur as he ran off squeeling to his next employer.

The crew were a mixed bunch with a young blond hero type of guy as the captain and a copilot somewhat older and a swamper called Cowboy Jim.

The Bristol crew took them off in the direction of the bar followed by my porcine engineer darting excitedly behind them.

Rob and I were alone ... a busted winch , burned out brake , no left generator , no heater.... we looked at each other .... lots of heart .... lots of guts.

The deal was , we do the work , Piggy signs it out. There was the wheel. We saw why he abandoned the project. The multiple discs were warped and the brake blocks were hanging up , just like the brakes on the airplane now. Rob came up with a solution and we struggled long into the night .. in the cold clear night , soon to be cloaked in a dense fog.
Rob ground the castellations on the discs with a small grinder so that the blocks were not held up , a tempory fix but skillfully done.

The merriment from the chalet was of no comfort to us.

And a special thanks to Mzunga. The pics were well received and lent reality to the story.

[Duke Elegant]

.

It's hard to explain what drives you. Late at night , at least we were in a heated shack , tired after a hard days flying , and determined . Determined not to fail.
Not ever a cross word between us and yet we would often vent at the injustices that beseiged us.... we had a common enemy.
We learned how to lockwire the finished wheel by running out into the brutal night with a flashlight and returning with a mental picture that Rob skillfully put into practice.

We now had to wrestle this giant wheel out to the airplane through the snow.... grunting ... it flops over ...AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!

GGGGRRRRRRR!!!!!!F*ck this! F**** that!!!!

Cold it was ... a still biting cold.

Our problems had just begun.

The aircraft was perched very precariously on jacks. This would not have been possible had the wind been blowing a mere three knots or so. We were lucky. No wind.

A fog had enveloped us and the cold snow now chirped and squeeked when walked upon.
The lights under which we laboured barely escaped a few yards or more. An erie glow surrounded us.
It took two of us to stand the wheel up to the axle but the jack leaked allowing the airplane to sag and settle slowly but we failed to time the shove ... time after time we struggled .. it took such effort to control the frustrated outbursts ... making sure we did not aim our vehemence at each other.
Comradeship was sacred at this point. And loyalty to each other was one thing we could count on.
The chalet should be closing anytime now. It's late .. after midnight. Cold .. bloody cold.

Sometimes , bouts of inappropriate laughter had us collapsing in heaps on the snow as we referred to "the romance of aviation" or the fact we had reached the pinicle of our careers.

"If only we had someone to work the jack." Rob said wishfully. We were alone. There were some who wanted us to fail.
We gather the last of our strength for one last effort.

The camp hummed in the background , somewhere over there in the thick fog.

A squeek ... was that a footstep? ... and another. Somebody was carefully feeling their way towards us ..a shape ... devoid of form .. cloaked.

We stared silently waiting for this creature to reveal its identity.

It was Cowboy Jim.

"Ah am here to help you boys" drawled Cowboy Jim. "Why! Ah just can't beleive what the fat fella was saying up in the bar." he continued.

"Which fat fellow?" I asked. I already knew the answer.

"The one whose eyes seem too close together , he always has three rum and cokes in front of him , he's pig eyed by now" explains Jim slowly.

We have a match , thinks I.

Jim told us how the engineer laughed at our efforts and laughed at the faulty jack and told everybody what a piece of crap these planes were. And how he was to pocket lots of dough with two paychecks coming in.
"They'll NEVER get those brakes done let alone get the wheel on." the fat one had grunted and he guffawed at our expense.
"I'm here to help." said the Cowboy and help he did. We easilly slid the wheel onto the axle and everything was lockwired accordingly and the airplane was lowered safely to the ground. Whew! Now all we had to do was replace the winch and look at the heater.

At 4am we decided to get some sleep so we could arise before dawn to get the airplane ready for a trip tomorrow ... when the fog lifts. So we crashed into our bunks and only seconds later the alarm rang at six.

[Duke Elegant]

.

I had a pilot's breakfast ... A coffee and a piss followed by a donut and a dump.

The fog hung even heavier as we made our way to the strip and we finished our work.

It was hard to tell when dawn arrived. A lighter glow maybe. All three crews left the wing covers on until it was certain we were going to do a trip.

My plan was to taxi up and down the runway to seat the brake in by using power against brake.

Air and ground crew scurried about preparing their aircraft , and waiting , coffees in hand. Loadermen sat in their warm mounts as did the graderman after he had groomed the strip.
We removed all the heaters and with the help of the Herman Nelson got both engines running and sat while warmth seeped into their innards and oil. We left the wing covers on.
Lots of people were watching as we proudly taxied out to test our rebuilt brake system prior to it being signed out by the porcine poofter.
We dissapeared into the fog as we taxied downhill , stabbing at the brakes. We couldn't go too fast as the end of the runway was not easilly discernable and we did not want to end up in the Iskut.
Uphill was a different matter. I needed more power so I moved the throttles forward .. and then some more. We were not paying attention.
Witnesses said later that the huge beast loomed out of the fog in a huge batlike fashion , engines roaring , as the wing covers filled with air puffing them up atop the wing like huge biceps .. bungies snapping ... more air under the cover as they bulged , taut and full of wind with a madman at the controls stabbing at the brakes making it lurch this way and that.
I came to a lurching stop and surveyed what looked like wounded people who I determined later were rolling in the snow laughing at this madness.
I was not amused.
But I was an idiot.

I came out of hiding and went looking for the engineer. He was to sign out the work on the wheel ... or a call was to be made to WCB or the tax department. The bluff worked. He must have had a guilty concience. I didn't have any dirt on him at all. He inspected the work including the perfect lock wire job and signed it off.
I called our hangar in Victoria and advised them of the urgency to find an M3 engineer and they were hard to find , especially one willing to work in a camp for weeks at a time. And this was radial engine territory , a fast dying breed of tough engineers.

The fog persisted.
And when the fog lifted , the weather in Wrangell turned on us.... cheating us out of our livelihood and cheating the mine out of diesel and groceries.
A week this went on. We avoided some people , mixed with others. Stories had worn thin. Groups formed .. people talked in low tones ... politics crept in like a tumour... rumours.
I heard that the mine wanted to extend the tempory Operating certificate for the American DC4. I had another C117 coming out of maintainence in Victoria .. so why would I allow this? I could bring it up to work.
We had tried to get work in Alaska and were laughed off the claim by the Americans.
More rumours.... The mine would have to bring in the Southern Air Transport Hercules as the inventory of bags reached twenty five hundred. Fuel was running short. Days were shorter. They had run out of explosives.
I got a visit from the dispatcher.
I was informed that as soon as the weather cleared , the DC4 and the Bristol would do Wrangell trips as their diesel tanks were installed and ours were removed so we got the laborious job hauling groceries.
But there were two semi trailer loads of explosives at Bob Quinn Lake and it was our job to fly it all to camp. All of it.
It was only thirty miles away but the weather to the East was somewhat better.

What an adventure that turned out to be.

[SawThe Light]

Keep them coming Aviator.

How often did you regret giving up the Goroka weather for that icy crap? The bar at the Bird must have been way, way better than that camp sounds.

STL

[Duke Elegant]

.

I lay on the bunk propped up against a pillow , feet crossed , boots on.

The small two bunk contractor's cabin was not trembling now as it had through the night as swirling blasts of cold air came up the strip from the Iskut and swished amongst the huge trees near the frozen creek.

This rare demon wind had done one thing for sure in cleaning the air of low snow clouds and ragged wisps with only a milky sky above. Clearing rapidly to the East ... towards B ob Quinn Lake airstrip , two thousand feet higher , and thirty miles upriver... up the frozen Iskut flanked by several seven thousand foot peaks.

As Rob , my co-pilot , dressed I explained my position about crew duties. I wanted to give him more take off and landings but felt I was still feeling my own way , and we always seemed to be on the edge

It made me feel better when he laughed it off ... "Hell man , I'm still learning my right seat job."

It was to be his lucky day as we were to fly to B ob Quinn empty , a very rare event and a perfect opportinity for a full hands on leg for Rob to fly . I had never been there before so I had the chance to survey the scene and come up with escape routes in the event of rapidly closing weather , a far too frequent event in this area. My gloved finger traced the river on the chart. Past McClymont Creek , and Forrest Kerr.
I mentioned to Rob that I had left instructions with the First Aid bloke in Bronson ... he was puzzled. I stayed silent on the matter.

The milky sky and the snow covered flats made the strip difficult to locate at first but appeared by the highway that went hundreds of miles south to Smi thers.
The trucks sat waiting after a long trip from the South.

As we taxiied toward the dozed out parking area we tried to determine which way was downhill for take off. Rather , it seemed , that it was uphill , both ways.

We winched the shrink wrapped palets uphill and herc strapped them down and filled in the gaps with individual boxes of explosives that are humped up by hand.

During this process we talk as we labour.

"We have five tons of dynamite on board. I don't know what it takes to set this sh*t off but here we are strapping it close to the temperamental heaters under the floor that are fired with high octane aviation fuel. MMMM fired by igniters. Don't think so mate! .. its gonna be a cold flight back." says I.
We had lots of fuel on board as we could only refuel in Wrangell.
The first three flights were uneventful , if not , very satisfying as we ran the engines at reduced power on the descent down to Bronson Creek. We can only do one more flight as the weather in Wrangell is down.

Upon return to B ob Quinn we load a few palets and I notice the size of the boxes changes. They are now smaller and lighter.
I question the driver who casually informs me that those fifty boxes are caps.Blasting caps!

Sh*t!! The very devices with which to anger the dynamite god and KA-F*CKIN-BOOM and I'm the first Aussie on the moon.
Darkness stalked us.
"I don't want to take caps and explosives on the same flight" I implore him.
"You"ll need this bulkhead" he says as he hands us up a four by four sheet of three quarter inch plywood.
"Use it to separate the two , everybody else does." he matter of factly exclaims.
"Besides ," he informs me , " We can't sleep in our truck , we would have to go all the way to S mithers and return here tomorrow , maybe , IF you can get in. We have already made one fruitless trip and you guys never made it yesterday. We are nearly broke now , over this contract."


I started bleating like a sheep but quickly re-gained composure.

The cargo door thumped shut as I slid behind the frozen yoke. The sky was darkening. A 31,000lb grenade to be flown to the mine and its savage appetite for GOLD.
They blasted their way into Johnny Mountain. There was gold alright. Flown out in its purest form by a Beech 1900. Ingots.
In its dirtlike form , we flew the bulky bags in exchange for GOLD. Were we bargaining away our safety for GOLD?

"I wanted the gold and I got it
And somehow the gold isn't all"

Rob settled into his frozen position. We tried not to aim a breath near the frozen windshield.... there would be no heater.

The pressure of the mission was building.

"By the way," quizzes Rob , "what instructions did you give the First Aid guy this morning?"

I turned to look at him, slowly, so the gravity of what I had to say seeped into him

I paused.

"I told them that in the event of a crash , I want them to look through the wreckage and retrieve the nine inch d*ck and put it in my box so I could be identified."

We exploded into a laughing fit .....
..and took off.

[Duke Elegant]

.

.

I POSTED THIS ABOUT EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO ON THE ORIGONAL THREAD.

I will take a break from further tales , of which there are many more to come , to indulge in a little reality.

Three years ago.....


I lay on the couch at the Flight Service Station in Mayo, Yukon Territories. I still had my flight suit on as we were on Red Alert whereby we were poised for action. There was a large fire only minutes away. I did not want to fly. I knew something was wrong with my guts. I knew it was not ulcers as I had been initially diagnosed. It was not Beaver Fever as I was now diagnosed. The pain became unbearable.

The bird dog officer came with good news: we were to return to Dawson City and stand down as a fleet of helicopters were on the fire line. I clambered up the ladder of the A26 and fired up both engines in haste , followed by a scrambling take off .... I wanted to go to the small medical clinic in Dawson City ASAP so I left the power at METO and scorched across the blurred landscape at 260 knots indicated. The clinic sent me immediately to Whitehorse where I sought help but there was only one surgeon there and he was busy. Fortunately , he did see me and I discovered how lucky I was. He was an Australian who was temporarily releiving the local surgeon and he saw me after hours. He admitted me immediately for explorative surgery but when I awoke and was clear of the morphine he gave me the bad news. He had removed a tumour from by colon that was clearly cancerous but he said he was amazed that I had survived so long and that I would not have lasted a week as there was four litres of stuff backed up behind the tumour.


Recovery was very painful but his visits showed him to be a pleasant and compassionate man who had clearly saved my life. He was an athletic, 52 year old good looking man and was a favourite amongst the staff. He returned to his home down south as I was released from Whitehorse hospital and shipped south to my home in Chilliwack where I recovered over the next six months only to be subjected to the chemical nightmare of chemotherapy for six months. It was a miricle that the cancer seemed to be beaten and I returned to flying with the help of Transport Canada who gave me a restricted Airline Transport Licence and Fugro Airborne Surveys, who I flew for in the off season. Fugro was both compasionate and generous and had sent me to one of the most respected flight surgeons , Dr Takahashi of Ottawa. His gentle encouragement was a beacon of hope.

I now have a lifetime loyalty to Fugro and that was put to the test in Yellowknife on my way back from Baffin Island a year later. As I wandered throught the hangar at Buffalo Airways I was approached my Buffalo Joe who offered me an immediate job as Captain of a fire-bombing DC4 but loyalty won out. I stuck with Fugro for half the money. Joe was even appreciative of that.

Honour is a man's gift to himself.

A very close friend, Brian, from the Yukon, phoned me one day and was emotional as he told me to check my e-mail. The attatchment was an obiturary of Dr Frank Timmermans , an Australian surgeon previously from Whitehorse. He had died of a brain tumour.

And this man had saved my life.

I'm sorry folks ... I have to collect my thoughts .... back soon.....

Dr Timmermans was one of the most productive, profound, adventurous and compassionate jewels of mankind.

He had sailed around the world and had stopped in Africa to work with people with AIDS. He than went to India to work with people with leprosy and then on to Canada where he went up to the Northern villages to help the native population with myriads of afflictions. He settled in Whitehorse and as I say, became a popular hard working surgeon.

Can you fellow aviators see where my inspiration comes from?

I am blessed.

[Rhodie]

It is so very hard to answer this Duke...

I don't think you need to really see one...

But we have said before and will again - you will beat this.

You still have much to tell and many of us here, need you in our own small ways, to experience in your words what we can only dream about...

Onward through the fog..

Rhodie

[chuks]

Thanks for some interesting stories about a side of aviation I have only had some brief encounters with.

I was waiting in Key West one night while my pax were off dining and dancing. ETD was 0300 local or so and I had plenty of time to wander around the ramp and Flight Service like a lost soul. Then a call came in from a DC-6 that was inbound from El Salvador (I think) with one engine out that hadn't feathered. I think they ran one engine so low on oil they had to shut it down, when they found it stuck in flat pitch. As if that wasn't enough trouble, the Cubans had then tried to get them to land on that benighted isle and now they were trying to make Key West.

We all went down to watch when the DC-6 was on finals, quite a while later. A set of real bright lights appeared, followed closely by a large aircraft. It made the midfield turn-off, pulled up on the ramp and then parked by backing up (!) in a blast of grit. It looked about as difficult to park as a VW beetle, actually. That might have had something to do with pilot skill, though.

A lot of little brown guys and one tall Yankee in cowboy boots came down. The Yankee pulled a comb out of a boot, groomed his greasy pompadour and then told us how they went across the Gulf of Mexico at low level with the little brown guys airmailing crates of avocados out the emergency exits. All the little brown guys had that 'thousand yard stare'.

That gave me something to think about. Not least, I always wondered if some shrimper out on the Gulf was surprised by being bombarded with a crate of avocados.

[tinpis]

:p

Yep theres was quite a lot of "avacado" traffic from South America wasnt there?:rolleyes:

[Duke Elegant]

.

I have been somewhat tardy in writing lately mainly due to a daunting event regarding my upcoming date with infinity.

The oncologist sat across the table from me at the Surrey Cancer Clinic and told me his version on my situation.

He told me I was going to die.

Pain management is the next thing for me , he says.

With movements devoid of flourish and with a professional monotone , he explained with the use of graphs and statistics that the general population survived this long if you did this... blah blah blah....this long if you did that....blah blah blah...

I spied the weakness in his arguement right there : I pounced !!

"How dare you include me in the "general population !" says I ... he laughed.

So anyhow , we disagree on when this event is forecast to occur.

I told him I will continue to buy green bananas.

[Animalclub]

Good on ya Duke

[Chaffers]

You've beaten worse odds more times than you can remember dude.

Have faith, we have.

[pigboat]

Hang in there Duke. Don't let the bast@rd get ya.

[Duke Elegant]

.

While I compose another literary symphony please enjoy a post that was made by a very good friend from my past.

We were graduates of the Scheyville Officer Training Unit in the Australian Army.

treefrog


Joined: Dec 18, 2003
Posts: 4
From: Brisbane
Posted: 2003-12-18 18:16
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Got a call from a thousand years ago. On the phone was someone with a phoney Yank accent saying he was Duke Elegant (not his real name!)just visiting Australia and wanted to meet up. Naturally he invited himself for an indefinite period.

Two great days of talking - never let a good story be ruined by facts- and he headed off to the outback for Xmas. The bane of authority, collector of women with extreme cantelever structures and legend in his own lunchtime has mellowed a lot.

If you weren't in charge of him you could not help but like him. He pointed out this forum and going through it, now he heads off to continue with his personal battles, I want to confirm the PNG/Australian stuff is 100% "based on fact" as they say in the movies.

I first met him at Officer Training School back in 67 and for some reason (maybe most of us were heading for flying training although the Army wanted us to be grunts) we were part of a small group who are mates to this day. He was always "in the ****" but extremely popular with the staff and other cadets - because he took the heat off us. I think he had a regular reserved position on the 0500 punishment parades every morning.

He was caught red handed in the cadets mess one evening up on a table doing an impersonation of the distinctive characteristics of the colonel who unbeknown to him was standing off to the side. Anyhow, as he says of his unbelievable luck "If it was raining arseholes I would be hit with a c--t" and the colonel invited him to partner his daughter who was visiting for a dance.

The next morning he was at the colonel's house seeing the daughter off back to university.
Colonel "I chose him to partner you because he dresses so well"
Daughter " And so quickly too."

Duke stayed out of the colonel's way for the rest of the course.

Shortly after the sad period of Barry Mayhew's death so well related by Duke, there was a huge summer ball at the officers mess at RAAF Point Cook. State Governor, mayor, admirals and generals were invited. Duke brought a girl who, if she fell flat on her face would look like a Piper Cub on Tundra tires. Anyhow, the lesser mortals stuffed down the back of the room got sick of foxtrots and waltzes and pooled together to bribe the band (against strict instructions from the base commander) to play some "proper" 60's music.

I seem to recall it was during a Stones number that Duke and the watermelon girl were swinging wildly when he lost his grip and she flew through the air, crashed into the band, displacing the drummer and his gear into a heap over the back of the stage.

Much to the horror of the Governor's wife and delight of the Second Lieutenants our heroine's low-cut dress had exceeded VNE and I think inspired the band (when they finally got sorted out) to launch into "Great Balls of Fire".

All 6 Army Officers, 5 of them completely? innocent, were banned from the Air Force mess for 3 months - thanks mate!

If anyone is interested there are lots more stories - particularly in PNG, Duke might not like to relate himself.

[ This Message was edited by: treefrog on 2003-12-19 18:02 ]

[SawThe Light]

Duke,


Onya mate. Had us a bit worried there aviator.

Keep the speed up.



STL

[Duke Elegant]

.

Whenever I was required to fly to company HQ in Ottawa I would use Westjet as they operated out of Abbotsford , a mere thirty minutes away.
This neccessitated a change of aircraft in Calgary.
On one trip I had a need to visit the comfort station. I wheeled my suitcase to the second stall as the first was occupied and then with a lot of clumping and banging I managed to include my suitcase while I performed my dailly ablutions.

I heard a voice from the next stall, "Hi. How are you?"

Well I am not the type to talk to strangers , especially seated on a toilet at the airport , but , rather embarrassingly, I answered, "Well , not so bad I guess"
And the stranger says "What are you up to?"

Talk about a dumb question. I was really starting to think this was a little wierd so I said "Like you I guess I'm catching an airplane"
The stranger says "Look honey! I'll call you back , some arseh*le in the next stall is answering every question I ask you"

He He He He He He

[TheStormyPetrel]

Duke, that's a gem. Did you wait until he was well clear before you emerged? How embarrassing.

[brockenspectre]

Dear Duke Elegant

Thank you so much for your writings. I treat myself to a weekly "catchup" on Sundays as I regard the story you are tellng a bit like a favourite book and I want to eke it out to make it last forever!

I realise that your energy for writing might be sapped by feelings of unwellness but please know that whatever you can manage will be greedily read! You have a reading public now, yanno!

:ok:

[Duke Elegant]

.

I wrote this whilst on my trip to Australia four months ago.

My holiday so far provides me with many moments for reflections and visits to my past. I left my relatives in Brisbane to spend two days with retired Army major Laing K***y and his still beautiful wife. I had written a short history of our acquaintence but it looks like he has beaten me to the punch. I think he faked that speech for the Air Force Association in order to ensure my departure. He did indeed give a speech to commemorate the flight of well know Australian aviator Bert Hinkler who flew a WW1 Avian bomber from England to Australia.

My friend Lang re-enacted that flight a few years ago in a replica Avian and National Geographic followed the whole adventure, and an adventure it was. It is worth exploring the archives of National Geographic for this feat.

I boarded the electric Tilt Train (7 hours Brisbane to Rockhampton) that streaked across some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. I had done this trip 53 years ago by steam train to Cairns and it took two days and two nights and we were filthy with coaldust on arrival. On that journey , my dying Grandmother was taking my brother Dougie and I to live with my stepmother and father that I never knew. I sadly lost both my Grannie and my brother within two years and experienced extreme lonliness that precipitated enrollment in boarding schools thereafter. (stories to follow)
The years have soffened the bitterness of the past and instead of wallowing in self pity , I secured well being with forgiveness thereby forming a true loving bond with my stepmother who I was on my way to visit on this trip. Prior to my Dad's death , I forgave him too and was blessed with the last years of his life.
Well , after a few glasses of wine with my stepmother , the stories started to flow and one name in particular emerged , that of the infamous Dr Eddelstein , a doctor of the Jewish persuasion who has apparently been stripped of his licence to practice a few years ago; I may have helped him lay the cornerstone of his short lived empire.

1969 ... or thereabouts.
SOMETIMES AN AVIATOR HAS TO MAKE SACRIFICES.

My restless soul had been set free by my Army courtmartial.

Whilst plundering the Trans Australia Airlines inventory of air hostesses I similtaenously ran out of money.
Since bullsh*t was the intellectual mainstay of the era I was well qualified to present myself as the catch of the day but first I had to find a job. I secured a job mowing lawns around Coogee Beach from 8am to 1pm and then spent the afternoon surfing. At night I had a part time job in a bar that I expertly fitted to match that of the TAA hostie schedule.
Most of the landscape customers were little old ladies or widows of considerable wealth. , one of whom took a fancy to me. I'd often joked to my friends that my plan was to find a rich wealthy old tart with a
bad cough and put my d*ckie in the till , so to speak.
"Come in for a cuppa" she wheezed. She'd already scrubbed up and bathed in cheap industrial perfume and the tea tray and scones were delicately placed upon the table in the courtyard. I sipped tea under her randy stare as she manouvred for the kill by leaning forward to share the beauty of her breasts that looked like two oranges , one in each foot down at the bottom of a pair of panty hose. She was certainly a leading cause of erectile dysfunction so I stammered moronlike but to no avail. I was scared .. I had to flee somehow ....so I did the honourable thing and bleated, " I'm a poofter ... er ..I'v got a date tonight ... er ... gotta go ... he's such a bitch when I'm late." So I quickly gathered the tools and fled to the waiting truck where my mates howled with laughter .. they knew she was as toey as a roman sandal and had set me up.

More to follow .. over!

[Duke Elegant]

.

One day I spied an ad in the morning paper looking for a pilot so I submitted a resume and was surprised when I was called for an interview at a medical clinic. There were two other candidates amongst the patients and I could tell by their watches that they were Air Force. I found out that one was a Hercules pilot and the other a Caribou pilot so I had little chance and jobs were scarce. I was rewarded with disdain when they learned I was an ex Army aviator but I was called in first. There conducting the interview was the pudgy little Jewish Doctor Eddelstein. who was about my age.
"I'd wager that he was not successful in squiring the ladies." thinks I as I cunningly devised a plan to secure the job which entailled flying a doctor in Eddelstein's employ from Walgett to Lightning Ridge every day in a Piper Arrow.

The interview was going OK when I purposfully let it slip that I lived amongst the hosties and they would be unhappy at missing the rogering roster of the Duke and sure enough he blurted out that the job involved regular trips to Sydney and he giggled excitedly as he imagined himself as the Dukes right hand man in the art of the hostie romp.

The tide had turned in my favour for sure.
He tried as he might to entice me to take the job, "I have a Lambourgini ... and,..and ... a flat at Coogee Beach," he blubbered. I let out some more line and then "Well now! What about pay?" says I.
I was cockly now as I tapped into his uncharacteristic generousity. I had aced the job , and, as I strode out past the two Air Force professionals I proudly suggested that they piss off and maybe they should take my lawn mowing job.... and especially the address on Oceanic ... he he he..that of the old tart.
It was a slack job and suitable quarters were hard to find in Walgett but I secured a dusty, noisy little flat furnished with a matress and some boxes upon which was a radio.
The doctor who worked for Eddelstein was none other than Dr John O'Gorman , an ex Australian Wallabies rugby player with a cute Mexican wife Juanita.

I'd fly him to Lightning Ridge every day to a clinic manned by a tough, non ladylike , hairy legged nurse who cut and polished opals out the back of the clinic. Most people lived underground in a room hollowed out in their opal mines to escape the heat. It was a wild place governed by the code of the west thereby providing a steady supply of wounded miners at the surgery.

There were occasional charters out to Western Queensland for sheep and cattle agents and the landing areas were usually dried salt pan lakes. And hot! Bloody hot! Rough air, dry thumping air.

Back in my Walgett flat one evening I recieved a phone call from Dr John. "Come up to the house," he invited , "we are having a party. "
In polished riding boots and mock oilskin pants I arrived at the house and was led in to a very small party. Three people, all pleasantly drunk, the doctor, his wife and a stunningly beautiful blonde lady in a fur coat.

"A little better setup than the old trollop in Coogee." thinks I.
The ladies wanted to dance so I obliged. And close too...much to my pleasure as the lady cuddled up and cooed in my ear. The docs child was at a baby sitter so they retired early for a bone session leaving the godess sighing contentedly as she pawed over my pantherlike body.

"Take me to the pub for some excitement," she said tongue exploring my ear. I couldn't refuse but I warned her of the ruffians and wild clientelle downtown in that grotty bar but she remained steadfast.
The place went silent as we entered , the dashing dandy and the countess in the fur coat.
I looked about .. we were the only ones not wearing a large hat ... and we certainly were the only ones with a full set of teeth.

There were sheep shearers, railway men , labourers who humped wheat all day and lots of abbo's.

The barmaid asked if we were in the right place as the mumbling turned to smart comments with learing stares. The abbo's stirred and moved closer for a better look.
I strutted confidently and answered "It is indeed my sweet" as a blush swept over her twenty pound face.

The white wine we were served was an affront to the civilized world.
"You look nervous," my temptress whispered,my Tzarina, "I like excitement." At this she glided in front of me and slowly opened her fur coat .. just for me.
Lord Thunderin' Jesus .. there is a GOD!
Naked. Starkers. Heavenly .. pert little ski jump titties .. like little puppies noses .. tight curly blonde well manicured bush...

I had impure thoughts.

We left breathlessly for my little flat in the Jaguar ....
We bent our backs to the passionate strains of the night.
We were having breakfast from the menu of the Karma Sutra when I spied the time ... "Hell! I exclaimed, "I have to fly a charter in fifteen minutes and the customer pick up is in Coonamble" ... I dressed in a blur. It sure didn't take her long to dress now did it?

On the way to the airport she 'fessed up that she was married and that her husband had cheated on her and her mission was to punish him.

Successful mission I'd say.

I was caught in the crossfire but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Oh! The sacrifice.... an Aviators life can be hell.
I did a quick walkaround and entered the cockpit of the Arrow with my petite, delicate bird perched upon the wing making sure I spied the lily. I waited for the regular F27 to land and it taxiied in and the steps were rolled up to the door down which came the passengers.

"My God!," she exclaimed "my husband". And down the steps came the large ex Wallaby rugby player , now a famous lawyer in Sydney.
I half pushed her off the wing towards the Jaguar , started the airplane engine and ever so gallantly , I fled.

[Duke Elegant]

.

I am dealing with a little pain right now. The forecast shows pain ahead.

Just like when we were back out over the Atlantic in the C117 with one engine out and unable to feather and the other at METO power just to ease the rate of descent , I made a decision to not use full power on the good engine until I was in ground effect (over the ocean) so that I had one engine at least to smooth out the ditching in huge seas.

I won't use pain killers until I need them the most.

Right now , a baggy of Happy Grass smooths things out just fine.

Major Kidby posted the following story about me on avcanada.

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treefrog

On reflection I think I will just relate a few more Duke Elegant tales to give those who do not know him (I think a vast number of members have his I.D. by now)a bit of a background from a third party.

As I mentioned earlier he has mellowed considerably in the 40 odd years I have known him but there is still an 18 year old trapped inside his 58 year old body! I don't think it would be fair to tamper with his great outlook on life by stealing stories which form part of his package.

Just a couple more Duke Elegant observations:

Still at RAAF Point Cook learning to fly. One night a senior RAAF Officer noticed Duke studying the flora with a young lady in the magnificent gardens of the Officers Mess. Early next morning all the Army Officers were summoned to the briefing room not completely unaware of the subject in hand.

Now, finding a tiny minded cretin in the senior ranks of the Army is not difficult but in the Air Force it is compulsory. The Chief of Staff, a Group Captain, strode into the room with a black scowl on his face.

The boys could see the humour of the situation but kept a straight face.

"Now I am as broad-minded as anyone", lied the Group Captain, "and do not wish to comment on the personal habits of a fellow officer - as distasteful as they may be.'

"But I will not condone such activities taking place on an AIR FORCE BLANKET!"

The room broke up and, leaving a bunch of uncouth gorrillas posing as Army officers rolling in their chairs with tears running down their faces, the Group Captain stormed from the room.

Further ridiculous mass punishment, which backfired on the Air Force in a humorous (for us) manner naturally followed.

After Duke's minor difference of opinion with the Army he and I arrived in New Guinea at the same time. He was initially driving his little C 182 - basic VFR panel, no oxygen or any fancy stuff- around while I was pushing Pilatus Porters with the 183 Recce Squadron.

Within a short time Duke was legend. I remember flying between Port Moresby and Lae one afternoon (a bad time to fly in PNG) and heard a TAA F-27, in the pre-radar days, call on the radio to the controller that they had just passed a C-182 at 16,000.

"Alpha Bravo Charlie have the F-27 in sight"

"Alpha Bravo Charlie what are you doing at 16,000?"

"Alpha Bravo Charlie descending from 18,000"

Final bit on the Duke concerns his beloved Aztec. Everything is in the eye of the beholder but I think even a new Aztec had a face only a mother could love and Duke's machine was far from new.

Perhaps I was spoilt by having gleaming aircraft maintained by the taxpayer but I remember this crappy brown bucket of bolts with prop leading edges like a cross-cut saw.

Duke is like a father with a daughter who could defeat the whole Dallas Cowboys defensive team single handed - just by falling on them- encouraging her to take up ballet. Love is blind.

The truth about that plane probably lays somewhere in the middle. Whatever, it carried him through plenty of adventures and whenever his stories fill an hour at some bar I am proud to say he is a mate of mine.

[Duke Elegant]

So it turns out that my mate tinpis and treefrog knew each other from Papua New Guinea and posted these stories about the Pilatus Porter.

tinpis

Ok..so it workin hi to all canucks "the chosen frozen" heehee.
Treefrog I think we coulda worked together if you were moonlighting on Porters ( PNG PNH ?)in Lae humpin coffee bags??

Keep the words coming Duke emi gutpela stori tru
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treefrog


Joined: Dec 18, 2003
Posts: 4
From: Brisbane
Posted: 2004-01-09 22:24
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tinpis,

Yes I did a bit of moonlighting on the ****** Porters. Bit rough around the edges but they were a lot lighter than the Army ones without all the radio gear, wing hardpoints etc.

They were also lighter because they didn't have pilots doors. As you probably experienced you would sit in the seat while they stacked coffee bags to the roof behind you. Totally impossible to get out if you pranged.

Because the bags were a bit big to go right to the roof at the back there was about a foot of space - enough to squeeze two full fare paying passengers prostrate on top of the bags. Because they were jammed against the roof I always thought it was a good thing because they steadied the unsecured bags.

Remember going into a strip and Duke Elegant was just leaving. He had been taking advantage of the dumped drums of army Avgas (the Bell 47 helicopters had a range of about 300 yards)which were all over PNG. it was not a bad thing and most of the operators used the fuel either scratching on the drum who took it or calling the army later. They would eventually get a bill.

We often put Avgas in the Porters from these dumps and it made absolutely no difference to temperatures or performance in the PT-6. I think the manufacturer says 50 hours Avgas use in an engine life - we did a lot more than that before the factory instructions came out.

Having every man and his dog use the dumps (some companies also had dumps) allowed the fuel to be turned over. The Air Force Caribous- a great mob (nobody else in the air force would work in an iron lung)used to wander around topping the dumps up.

No theft after a few people were killed in a village putting Avgas in a lantern thinking it was jet fuel. Very often the rubber seal rings were gone from the drums as the women found them an essential fashion accessory to wear on their wrists - lots of wasted time doing water checks.
Anyhow Tinpis and Duke you know all this stuff.

duke, hope you got home Ok!

.

[M. I. Icarus?]

Mr Elegant,

The tales of your flying inspire life, the universe and everything. One can only read and admire, for your life is one to aspire, if only for sheer exuberance and joy of living and flying. The fact that you are able to continue to share your experiences with us, with so many lines of thunderstorms ahead, only fortifies the effect you have obviously had on many whom you have met, and provides others, such as myself, with a renewed sense of what matters in life.
I look forward to many more tales, for I know there are many more to come, and know that, in whatever shape or form, you will continue to inspire aviators around the world for many years to come.

May you find the hole in the line, and sail into clear blue skies. You have done it before, you will do it again.

Yours sincerely.

[Readability5]

Duke

Some fantastic stories, thank you for sharing them. You're getting quite a following so I hope you get to keep telling your story for as long as you want to. Best of luck.

[Duke Elegant]

Thank you Super 80 for the kind words and the encouragement.

And redshirt too. Aviation has a way of attracting characters doesn't it? I would love to breast the bar oneday with you sir.

Well I spent the last four days over on Vancouver Island visiting my grandkids with whom I cherish every minute.

A friend flew me over in his six banger Cessna 172 on a nice , smooth , sunny day. Skies through which I had aviated in King Airs and Navajo's in all sorts of sh*tty weather , under stress and usually behind schedule. I loved it though.

I found myself coaching my friend but it is always well recieved.

The secondary purpose of my mission was to do the bottom of my forty foot cutter named Baka.

I accomplished this by sailing her onto the tide grid at high tide which , wouldn't you know it , was at 0100 hours. I secured her to the pilings and waited for the tide to go out. We pressure washed her clean and off to the paint shop I go.

I was driving along thinking "HHMMmm. Those egg-heads at the cancer clinic said I was supposed to croak this summer sometime..what will I do? Man! I have some decisions to make...Thoughts raced through my mind. Decisions...I had to put some order into these thoughts.

I wheeled into the parking lot and went to the counter to ask for some anti-fouling bottom paint. I told her the brand name.

"Do you want one year or two year paint , the latter being more expensive?." she purred at me.

I'd already made my decision.

"I'll take the two year , my sweet." I proudly postulated.

[whiz]

Duke,

I'm sure I have some 10 year paint I could send to you. Your tales are a daily inspiration to us all ..... keep fightin !!

[scran]

I'm with you Whiz.


Good call Duke - with the 2 year paint. However, I fully expect to hear about the next time you have to paint the boat, because I sincerly hope you will still be with us then.


Good luck Digger (if I may be so bold) !!!



Scran

Ozzie (RAAF - hope you don't hold that against me!!!!!!)

[Duke Elegant]

1994

I had left my last job as Operations Manager of a company that I had started on behalf of a successful logging road contractor. Before I left I had been given a generous bonus which made it harder to resign.

She was worth it. Besides being pretty she had a house on the lake with a boatshed and dock.

I had been offered a job with a helicopter logging company that entailled establishing a fixed wing division with a corporate turboprop. Often the helicopters were as far away as Alaska and South to Montana on fire fighting duties so crew changes were challenging to say the least, let alone keeping up with spare parts and supplies to the hill crew.
In this, I was schooled and skilled. I had gained immeasurable experience running a charter company that was mainly tied to the logging industry. We had King Airs , Navajos and a Caravan on amphibious floats.
So I started looking around for a King Air which meant I had to be around the office lots. The office was located down by their sawmill which was right on the inlet into which logbooms are towed and secured.


It was ruled by Attilla The Hen.

She was the Operations Manager. Her rule was both vicious and brutally efficient.
On her, nothing worked. I tried oily charm , humour and even hard work occassionally.
But the friendly Bell 222 company pilot made the surroundings pleasant and occasionally I got to fly with him and get some stick time.

The company also had a Cessna 206 on amphibious floats split shifted by two pilots ; the Gambler and a wannabee porn star called Chuck.

Attilla fell for it ... I made my presence obnoxious to her .... and she hissed "Go learn to fly the C206 .. or something ... "
I planned to just ride with the Gambler and get to know my way around so I would recognize the scenery from fifty feet as was pretty well ops normal in these here parts, especially now in winter.

My plan included dual instruction from the porn star as he was the best around but some how he was out of favour with Attilla the Hen .... mmmmmm ... I wonder ... does it have anything to do with the Cruella doll hanging by the neck from the compass?
So the plan was simple. The Gambler was to take of from the City airport and land at the sawmill dock which was only three minutes away, and pick me up for a trip "on the outside".... of Vancouver Island that is.

I sauntered down to the dock having just got off the phone that the Gambler had just taken off from the airport and indeed I could already see him. I walked across the cedar smelling bark mulch in a misty rain. I neared the dock and saw that a small tugboat approached towing a single boom... no problem.
There he is downwind already ... against the steep, dark green mountain backdrop.. so clear .. so clear I can even see his wheels.

[Duke Elegant]

My warm parka does nothing to ward off the inner chill deep within.

I reach for my cellphone , pulse quickening. Frantically I stab at the numbers ... Gambler! Pick it up for crise-sake ... you phoned me while taxiing so I know it's on... Base leg. Heart pounding now ..I run towards the dock ... waving ... Gambler is looking at the tug that is towing a log boom ... yep ... I'm clear he thinks.

The wheels kiss .. then dig in with a splashy thump.. a half second later the nose wheels slam into the water, four momentary roostertails then in a watery blinding flash it upends onto its back with a loud hollow thump....resting now on the upturned floats .... wheels protruding defiantly upwards.

I am already halfway to the office and shouted for an ambulance , RCMP and a rescue boat but I see that the tug has unhitched the boom and steaming towards the floatplane.... Still no Gambler ...the tug crew is looking too .. I near the waters edge... and I see him ...bobbing with the waves .. he's OK.

Well it turns out that there is a lesson here and that is that the Gambler DID indeed put the gear lever in the up position after take off but because of a worn out limit switch that would not shut off the hydraulic pump ,it had been the practice for the last few days to shut it off by pulling the circuit breaker. Except that someone had forgotten to reset it.

A three minute flight? No checks ... Oh well.
If you have to do that while awaiting parts , then the circuit breaker should be flagged and the item put on the checklist.
But who reads checklists eh?
The Gambler never flew again and went back to his trailer in Vegas.

[Duke Elegant]

So anyhow, we float her, upside down and in a not so dignified manner closer to shore and pull her up by the prop hub , ever so slowly so as to let the tons of water slowly drain from the wings, tail and floats.

So I got to thinking. We are presently chartering King Airs and then float planes to get the crew and equipment to the helicopter hangar barge so why not one plane does all.

A Turbo Beaver on amphibious floats. So I got the nod from Attilla and indeed I found one owned by the Ontario government. It was that "Baby's First Dump" yellow colour and the maintainence was exemplarary. So I flew out to St Paul Minnesota, the home of Whipline Floats, with a check. I checked in to a motel for a week or so in order to learn how to operate the floats in salt water and to get some experience on type before going back across North America to British Columbia. After all , I only had five hours on floats as part of a bogus float rating.

I enjoyed watching my steed mount those floats and I wandered about. Out on the tarmac I saw an all white Pilatus Porter with a crudely taped N number so I wandered up to the leather jacketed pilot who was engrossed in his clip board. He was supposed to be doing some certification flights prior to these brand new airplanes going on floats.

"I've got some time on these " I mumbled to get his attention.
And get it I did. He hurried away and fetched Bob Whiplinger himself who quickly asked me to go for an hours flying with the test pilot for insurance reasons and besides, he was having trouble figuring power settings on approach. Even though I explained that I hadn't LOTS of experience (100 hours or so) and that was twenty years ago. They persisted. So I climbed into the left seat and the pilot checked the herc straps on the box in the back and climbed aboard.

Most things were familiar ... the awkward shelf , uncomfortable throttle position, legs wide apart on the pedals, comfortable stick position... I started and taxiied out and I was doing checks when I reached up for the rotating flap lever while saying "watch your head" but it wasn't there. Wow! Electric flaps.

I purposfully did a steep take off and she flew wonderfully at slow speeds. After some steep turns I returned for landing with a fifteen hundred foot downwind just to show off, and I turned as soon as the threshold went by and started discing .. "Sit on yer hands" says I as the airplane entered "plummet" mode. The high whine even snarled more as I disced her some more and increased the plummet rate... I poled her around onto a short final and chickened out by applying a little power to flare and she squatted on just a few stripes down the runway.. then full reverse as she does her little squirm as airflow is sucked in the wrong direction past the rudder. I did a few circuits with him and went to the bar. We were in fine form, a mob of lying, drunken bullsh*tters when the pilot comes in after his flights. He exclaims to all, "Wow! Bob ,what an airplane .. you should see what it can do .. and at 300 pounds over gross weight and at aft C of G too!"
I was dumbfounded.... I thought it was empty.
The box in the back looked so small ... YEAH! Full of lead ingots.

Anyhow it seems that it also had a Dash28 up front in place of the old Dash20 that I had flown in the Australian Army.

[Duke Elegant]

.
St Paul Minnesota is not the prettiest of places in late winter and the chocolate coloured Mississippi does nothing to enhance its beauty but it sure is a fun river to brush up on one's float flying skills. After the company test pilot had flown the appropriate testing flights and a few adjustments were made I got him to give me a checkout.

He gave me forty five minutes of his time and told me to "learn" on my cross continent flight back to British Columbia. So armed with the maps, a compass and a credit card I headed West across the plains states and got to know my steed.

Bathed in sunshine I flew. Free of any airway or tower. If the airport had a tower , I never went there. Navigating was a breeze as railroads snaked their way from town to town and large watercourses fattened out into lakes and I did alight thereupon. Into South Dakota now ... and flatter ... and not so adorned with features to the mighty Oahe Resovoir. There too, I did alight, and floated around while having a lunch but more importantly, to take pictures of myself. AAAhhhh! The solitude. I lay on the comfortable flat topped float and bagged a few rays while I re-evaluated the haste with which I was expected to carry out this mission. ZZZZZzzz

.
I awoke ... the silence was deafening.
I have a plan , thinks I and I decided to make the next leg up into the mountains while the weather was good and worry about the rest of the trip tomorrow. I chose a small town called Hot Springs which was south of the busstling Rapid City SD.Nestled by a large resovior it was about 3200 feet above sea level so I landed at the airport on wheels which was very easy.
However , on downwind , some words of advice were recalled. Always ask yourself , "Where am I landing , where are my wheels?". Cat Driver told me that.
It sounds simple , but you have to think about it. Checklists aren't enough.

Next day I skirted around the Edgemont MOA and flew towards the rising ground across the state line into Wyoming. I wanted to find a spot on the North Platte River where I could land ... just to say I'd done it and so I did ... at Glendo. Wow! The old dash twenty sure was sucking wind on take off at 5000 feet above sea level.
And westward .. even higher yet. Casper Wyoming is 5300 feet ASL.
I cruised above the high , rolling hills amazed at the private strips on cattle ranches and the spectacular surroundings. Always something to see.
By the time I got to the menacing 13,000 foot mountains west of Riverton they were draped in a crown of thorns , big black bags of thunder and lightning.... and its late winter. I had to waste my westing and fly straight north to Billings when I really wanted to go to Jackson Hole but couldn't find a way up through the ten thousand pass.
More to follow

[Duke Elegant]

By flying north and paralelling the massive mountain chain only postponed the inevittable and I had to bust through sooner or later so I flew by Bozeman and Butte all of which are 5000 feet or above , very impressive , especially in a float plane. The lazy , relaxed flight over the high plains states was long forgotten in the turbulent, thumping, wallowing fight through some of the most impressive mountain scenery on the planet. I'd abandoned my desire to touch down on waterways that were laced with skittering winds dancing hitherto as any lake was at the mercy of the hammering downdrafts.

Until Couer D'Alane Idaho. I'd busted out of the mountains through the Mullins Pass and the country widens out to the south into the fruit growing Eden which is a basin containing Wenachie , Yakima and Walla Walla. But Couer D'Alene Lake was still breasted my brown hills and at the north end of the lake I burst upon the town just as a blue sky brightened my arrival. It was so beautiful that I didn't want to land . The floats hissed onto the azure lake as I kept her in the sweet spot with deft, maestro-like manipulating of power and in a wide arcing turn on the step I aimed towards the terminal and let her settle , awash, like a curtsy in front of the Queen.

[lineboy_nz]

*hanging on every word*

[Duke Elegant]

Today we fly to SanFrancisco for the maiden voyage of the 54 foot sailing yacht Hyperlas. Our mission is to deliver her to her berth in Point Roberts on the Canadian border. The voyage should be around a thousand nautical miles , maybe ten days... maybe...



We five crew are all offshore veterans but the weather at this time of year is unpredictable and we are bucking the Pacific Current that will rob us of over one knot. We must also stand two hundred miles offshore to avoid the Columbia River outflow and coastal weather.

We met a couple of days ago and our chef , Johnny O , compiled a menu fit for a Royal cruise. I , however , am on a natural uncooked food regimen as part of my cancer battle so I planned for a big bag of trail mix , dates and nuts with some fresh fruit and veggies occasionally. I suggested that they buy trail mix for five because things can easilly go for ratsh*t if we get pounded by a storm or two and the "cock o vin with sauteed mushrooms" gets splattered on the polished teak and origional artworks on this $1.2 million dollar palace.

I am taking two Patrick O Brien novels , "Master and Commander" and "Port Captain" so the nautical flavour and inspiration should be everpresent..

The last sea voyage I completed was San Diego to Hawaii on a mere 32 foot cutter. On that voyage I read The Right Stuff and soon thereafter was to meet Chuck Yeager personally in Australia.

Also , I am the only non gazillionaire on board.

I hope once again to immerse myself in the universe , alone , in the cockpit , on watch as the star scene pinwheels around the North Star Polaris.

But I am ready for battle against the cruel angry sea that has shown me her fangs before.

I look forward to sharing a few sea yarns with my aviator bretheren upon my return.

SOMETIMES IT'S TOUGH BEING A DUKE.
_________________
For me , VNE is not a limitation , it's a goal

[Duke Elegant]

I cast my eye upon her. I felt a stir in my loins. This fifty four foot sailing yacht sure was sleek. Sleek and panther like .. much like myself.

Skipper Dave had parted with $1.4 million Canadian in order to procure her. She was now his slave.

Skipper Dave , Johnny O , Harry , Larry and the Duke. It doesn't get much better than this.

We cheerfully provisioned her in San Francisco and readied her for the Northward slog up one of the most treacherous coasts on earth... from California to Canada via Oregon and Washington state. We feared for the early summer Northerlies into which we must sail. The other door to hell were the South Westerlies that whipped hard againts the Columbia River outflow. These , hopefully had retreated for the year only to awaken next fall to stare down the south bound mariners.

We cast off on a sunny day and purred along at eight knots out from Oakland into San Francisco Bay , navigating by the GPS moving map with all bouys clearly marked. A few points off the port bow towered the Golden Gate bridge under which we must steam. And steam we did right into a hornet's nest ... fifty racing sailboats hard tacking to weather with no mind for a transitting ocean bound yacht. With deft manipulation of the helm I stroked her through this nest only to be pounded by steep , short white cappers through which she plunged with her fine bow as she carried most of her beam aft in a saucy fashion.

She trembled with excitement as I plunged her.

[tinpis]

Strewth...from Hunter.S.Thompson to Patrick O'Brian in a week :}


Good to hear yer back wantok.

[Duke Elegant]

Chin thrust high , I took the seas head-on. On the balls of my feet I danced and swayed to her motions .... Aaaah! Admiral Nelson sprung to mind ... and Russell Crowe ... and the Duke.

I crouched over the radar on this fine sunny day but it was devoid of dangerous targets that I would have to demonstrate superior skills in order to avoid them.

I glanced at my shoes , a sporty pair of Polo Sports by Ralph Lauren. The first lady of the Hyperlas had shopped for these , after all , the rest of the crew had them. I had caged my trusty old brothel creepers below.

Skipper Dave efficiently deployed the mainsail in order to steady this galloping maiden.... she moaned and rolled over to a comfortable heel and she plunged on ..............

Morale was high , excitement peaked.

[Duke Elegant]

I gripped the sternrail with clammy paws. I heaved and spewed ... spewed last nights sixty dollar sushi dinner back to the deep. My Polo Sports streaked with viscous slime.

I stared , glassy eyed , into this lumpy green hell.

I growled and retched in despair and I cursed this black hearted , heaving , pox ridden harlot that tried to buck me off with her corkscrewing writhing gyrations.

I was a frothing , bug eyed fool.

Fifty feet away , up in the bow was the chain locker. If I could make my way there , I would wrap myself in chain and step over the side. How do I lift two hundred feet of chain ? Maybe if I unshackle Skipper Dave's six hundred dollar anchor ...

"Them that dies will be the lucky ones" ... that Blackbeard the Pirate phrase meant something to me now.

I looked towards the cockpit where three gallant sailors chatted merrilly. Oh how I despise them.

Then Skipper Dave says , "Hey Duke! The good news about all that vomitting and spewing is that it sure saves wear and tear on yer ars*hole." They laughed heartily ... and I attempted a grin.

[Duke Elegant]

Well anyhow , the rest of the sailing adventure went quite smoothly once my sea-legs returned. We basically motor sailed the whole way and twice had dolphins play in the bow wave and two of us got to see a large whale slapping the ocean with its pectoral fin.

We rounded Cape Flattery into Juan de Fuca Straits over calm seas and blue skies. A classy dinner , served upon the teak table in the cockpit , was enjoyed by all. Five days , it took.

A memorable experience , I must say.

[Duke Elegant]

I would like to share a story that still catches my imagination to this day.

Was it just a coincidence?

The following picture should explain to you true aviators why I stayed on the A26 for twenty years.

I am honoured to have flown this beautiful aircraft in the twilight years of it's service. It is indeed , an end of an era.

http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/albums/userpics/10119/Duke%20and%20Tanker%2026~1.jpg

Please also note the nose art that was painted on Tanker 26 by Eric Ebert , a very close friend with whom I spent four summers in Alberta and the Yukon. I also had the pleasure of hiring him and training him to captain the Super DC3 (C117). Eric was a very talented person and an exceptional pilot. He was cerebral and had passed second year medical school with hounours , only to chuck it in and return to do what he had a passion for.

We welcomed him back.

Over many jugs of frothy intelligence we finally agreed as to the content of the artwork. Eric spent weeks making stencils and doing it right.

And the art that arose from those inspired frothy encounters was a saucy lass sitting on a fire hose (which is not quite finished) and with a come hither look that would stir anybody's loins.

I was between wives at the time and found his artwork so alluring.

Eric was tragically lost in the crash of an Electra L188 fire bomber last summer. He was the First Officer , soon to be made Captain.
_________________

So here is a close-up of Eric\'s masterpiece.

http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/albums/userpics/10119/normal_Fire%20Kat.jpg

So anyhow , that winter I hook up with a lady that I had known for twenty years or more and before you could say "pre-nup" she became Mrs Elegant.

Eric Ebert had never met Kathy when he did the art.

Kat came to Alberta for a visit and Eric was in the Yukon so we posed Kat in a motel room in Fort Mac and we intended to send him a picture of my new missus.

He had even got the shoes right !!!

So somehow , I think we\'re all connected.

What a nice way to remember a friend , eh?

I miss ya buddy

http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/album...mal_Kat%7E4.jpg

[SmallGlassofPort]

I had thought your stories had finished some time ago on the Canada site.....
I was saddened by that.
My wife and I love reading the stories of your life. I think of my own recollections, am proud of them, but are no comparison to yours.
Yours are of a time gone by, both more savage and romantic.
Keep it up Duke. I know we love it!

[Duke Elegant]

As recently as a few days ago , just when I was all bummed out , a post appeared on the avcanada.ca website. I was all bummed out because of something stalking me . Like I said in my first post a few years ago ..." a creature devoid of form".........


Pain ... that's what I am dealing with right now. The morphine pills remain in the cabinet .... I will need them some day. Not right now. Nope.

Two Guiness and a reefer. So far , so good.

A wonderful thing happened a few days ago.

Somebody posted this.

http://www.avcanada.ca/forums2/viewtopic.php?t=1673

We were told we were in the top 1% of youth ... and we knew it.

This post was an elixor of inspiration as I recount these heady days. This , my friends , was an egofest of the highest magnitude.

[Duke Elegant]

Quite a few posts ago , I told of the Cessna 206 Amphib that landed with the wheels down on the cold and wet Alberni Inlet and crashed onto its back right in front of me.

Since then I lost another friend when his Cessna 206 went on its back landing on a lake with the wheels down.

A reader of my tales posted this story on another site and I share it with you in the hope that these accidents point out the discipline that is required when flying floats/wheels.

JP11
Senior Member

Registered: Feb 2002

Flown: Whole bunch of little ones on: wheels, skis, straight floats, amphib floats. Some with 1,2, or no engine.

Civ/Mil: Civilian

Ratings: ATP, seaplane glider -SF340, Ce-560XL

Current Position:

Total Time: 5800

Posts: 164
Excellent
Duke-

I couldn't stop reading the thread. spent all morning in front of the computer.

Great tales.

I saw that one with the wheels down on the floats coming.

I flew amphibs for a couple years. Same exact problem on one of the ratty 206s we bought when the guy I was working for tried to expand into Costa Rica.

Well.. they got sick of pulling the breaker to stop the pump. They got high tech and wired in a switch! Unlabed on the dash.

So.. bout 6 months after I left (told em I was done, did 3 more weeks and bailed out)

They take off in the 206. Put up the handle.. and off they go.

Fat guy from the sates who owns the operation is down there floating along in this rubber raft in a lake by the volcanoe. He sees the 206 flying by.. they have the wheels hanging (they had done the same thing.. put the handle up.. it unlocks the green lights, but never got the floats up enough to light the blue ones)

So.. fat guy is waving frantically to tell them wheels are hanging. They think he wants them to land.

They set up for a beautiful landing right next to the bosses raft. He gets a front row seat to watch it flip.

The plane was a rat. He tries to sink it by punching holes in the floats after it is flipped. Too many people around and he has to give that up.

This is just shortly after they had landed a caravan on amphibs so hard as to push the float struts right up through INTO the fuselage.

Too funny. Guess I had good timing bailing from that outfit.

Keep the stories coming. I'll gladly help paint that boat hull in two years with you.

JP



.

I am having trouble with new posts tagging onto the last one....

[Duke Elegant]

This is a story I wrote last Christmas on my return home to Australia.

The time frame is the mid fiftees and although I had endured personal tradgedies so early in life , adventure , excitement and feedom were never denied to me.

BUTTERCUP.

My medical condition spawns a realization of what is important in life.
So I decided to take the very efficient Queensland Rail system to the other side of Brisbane to visit my Auntie Lil. That alone brought back memories of my youth as I had travelled to my first job in a bank forty years ago on this very rail system , albeit steam powered. My dad had procured this clerks job in the National Bank for me when I was seventeen so he could put himself through university to become a doctor , an event that caused us to be estranged for twenty or more years as I had been a high achiever in boarding school. As I rode the train I reflected on my banking career which was very short. Elvis had been just crowned King in those days and I wore similar clothing as he did and a haircut to match but I was dissapointed that I was not mobbed by screaming girls. Instead , I was rewarded with the condescending stares of the pompous bank manager whose nose would wrinkle as if someone was holding a small dog turd thereunder.
I arrived in Graceville and popped open the umbrella and walked in the rain to my Aunties whose tiny 89 year old frame embraced a warmth that I was sure could cure me. We chatted and relived the past carefully avoiding unpleasant events that had molded my character as much as happy ones.
And then she gut- laughed as she related a story that I had long forgotten. It is not an aviation story but bare with me.

Aunt Lil was the railway station mistress in the very small town of Mt Molloy that was serviced dailly by the rail motor , a contraption that was half automobile and half train. I think they are called Bud cars in Canada. It had a standing old fasioned radiator and an engine only powerful enough to haul one car behind.

My friend , Nooky Cambell , had a pony called Buttercup but the family was not wealthy so he rode her bareback with me perched behind as we raced over the rolling hills. This was my dual training. Nooky was an experienced horseman two years my junior and that made him eight years old. Buttercup was a tough little bitch of ample girth and boy, did she have an attitude.
We would ride her out to the first bend in the rail line a mile or so out of town and waited.... bare footed and excited atop our trusty steed. Nooky thought it was my turn in front so I clambered into the captains seat for my "in command under supervision" ride.

Buttercup rested and lazilly munched grass.

Suddenly, she raised her head with a mouthfull of grass , ears pricked up and looked in the direction of the approaching rail motor ... we had not heard nor seen it yet. She knew what the drill was.... she whinnied and stamped her foot... I tightened up on the reins to control her enthusiam and she backed up prancing a little. As the rail motor rounded the bend she wanted to go as she had done many times before. This was my first command .. I , too , was excited. We waited for the train to come abreast before I gave her her head and I let her go. The driver stared straight ahead as he was not to be a partner in this madness.

Buttercup lunged forward in the direction of the station. The train was on flat tracks but we had to hurtle down gullies and up the bank and jumping over fallen gum tree branches ... up hill and down dale ... racing..Buttercup imagined she was Phar Lap racing in the Melbourne Cup and I was The Man from Snowy River. The train gained ground on us so back went the ears of our rotund rocket and she put her heart into it.
We caught up .. the driver staring straight ahead ... the platform was approaching.... fast. The people awaiting the arrival of their loved ones smiled and waved. But the passengers looked at us , some laughing , some sternly looking ahead so as not to encourage us. The train slowed but our pace kept up as Buttercup was going to win the race by at least a furlong .. I tugged on the reins to no avail .. all that happened was that I pulled myself forward .. Nooky screaming something in my ear as I hurtled toward the platform .. the smiles vanished from the faces of the awaiting small crowd , some of whom scattered , some of whom pressed themselves flat up against the wall to avoid the 600 lbs of thundering meat bearing down at warp nine upon them .... I pulled harder only to pull myself up onto her neck .. I was too far forward ..around her neck .. hanging on, I dropped the reins and Nooky now also slid forward into the captain's seat but with no reins. Into the crowd we plunged and the only thing that convinced Buttercup to cease was the baggage cart piled high into which we crashed as I fell to the ground beneath the panting, sweating horse .. she stood victorious in front of Auntie Lil's ticket window whose horrified face was pressed up against the glass only to witness Buttercup's tail rise to shoot out a big pile of steaming horse turd which splattered on the platform.

I clearly needed further training

[Avtrician]

Great Stories, I sat here for three hours on Sat Night, until I finished the lot (after Midnight).

Graet inspiration.

Please keep them coming.

:ok:

[Duke Elegant]

.

There was a time when I was at the top of my game.

From my cheery office at the Chilliwack airport I rode herd over a couple of King Airs , two hard working Navajos , two Cessna C177s that served as ab-initio trainers , rental aircraft and light duty charter aircraft. Our Cessna Caravan on amphibious floats was based up the coast and was the final link into the floating logging camps that we serviced.

Some camps like Kimsquit and Taleomy River had short , challenging gravel strips , into which we flew both King Airs and Navajos. Kimsquit was 2000 feet long acording to the Flight Supplement but it at least had an uphill slope to arrest a charging , fully loaded King Air.

We had high flotation landing gear on the King Airs and this was invaluable on these rough strips.

The technique was that as soon as the wheels touched , full reverse was actioned slowly to affirm directional control then eased out so that at 60 knots flight idle was selected and the props pulled into feather on the run , still going slightly uphill to come to rest at the top of the hump with hardly a touch of the brakes and props slapping around harmlessly. This way we could coast downhill slowly on startup and turn back 180 degrees for take off.

Yep! Crew change day. Logging equipment operators , fallers , drivers , scalers , road builders , cooks , tools , spare parts , chain saws , personal gear, food and so on.....
They'd all spill out of the airplane and amble along the stony road up to the mess where top quality food was scoffed , a sort of bonus to the job.

Sometimes , hard , brutal flying at only hundreds of feet , in the rain was required. Low level in the grey crap , hugging the steep shoreline of the fjords and inlets , flanked by steep , unseen , menacing mountains. They threw down boiling , turbulent winds that scatterd on the rough inlet waters. And wet snow , freezing rain to be thrown into the cauldron.

On other days , direct flights in the clear blue at sixteen thousand descending down over ice fields and glaciers and streaking over mini paradises of azure lakes and down amongst the not so menacing mountains that now shed their obscurity. This was one of those days.

Lunch in the mess on crew change day was always a boisterous affair as incoming crew told tales of their days at home and the weary outgoing crew became bouyed with enthusiam for their coming days off.

Aviators were generally very popular as they made this event happen. Well , most of the time anyhow. Weather delays were commonplace and many a day was spent pacing the Flight Service station with other skunked pilots ... Terry Shields of Kwatna Timber , Paul from Nechance Logging , Pierre from PASCO and Bella Coola pilots from Wilderness.. they were a very capable bunch... we have a common enemy .... summer fog or vicious inlet winds that often blew the wind measureing equipment over.

But not today. The outgoing crew eagerly await us at the airplane , ever so willing to help load so they got home one minute sooner. Now it's time to pay attention.

Headset on ... to muffle the excitied chattering in the cabin. A couple of deep breaths , just to go into aviation mode. Engines start. Take off checks comple even though we are facing away from our intended runway.

We rest on the hump. Brakes release as the prop levers are moved out of feather to full fine and as the props grab enough air she slowly moves off the hump , slightly downhill now. When ahead of the gravel and rocks the right engine is brought up towards full power , turning the aircraft in as wide an arc as possible , careful to keep it moving , always ahead of the rocks.... now the inner engine is brought up , gathering the right power lever in the process and full power is applied just as the airplane is aligned with the take off run and we accelerate slowly up hill , over the hump and hurtle down the strip towards the inlet with the wing tips only feet away from the willows. Willows from which a bear or a deer could , and often did, amble.

Time to assess all possible emergencies is denied me.

The book does not quite address the required take off speed for these conditions. Lets see ......

I estimate that I am at gross weight ... but then again , those hockey bags look bigger that 60 lbs ... some even smell of huge salmon. Gravel and rocks ... full power is not obtained here until hundreds of yards down the runway... uphill for a ways then downhill ... the wind appears to be blowing above the trees but gusty below..

I feel the familiar tug of the sandy patch on the right main but we are through now ....

She knows when to fly ... I have unlocked that secret through experiment that is now called experience.

She obeys me , like the loyal Beech that she is.

So I reward her by tucking her wheels away as we leave the Kimsquit strip astern with room to spare.
_________________
For me , VNE is not a limitation , it's a goal

[Duke Elegant]

Sorry for the delay folks. I started this next group of tales with enthusiam as there are three big lessons to be learned therin.



Over the past few days as I have struggled with morphine induced constipation which would result in my sitting on the toilet , white knuckes clenching the sides of the bathtub , teeth clenched down on a rolled up newspaper , eyes bulging from a bloated , straining face as I shoot out a ball bearing sized turd with a resounding "plink" ...and all this after two hours of sitting reading about J Lo , Ben Affleck , Operah's fat problems and the two headed alien pimp.

Today is a good day so I'll get busy.

[Duke Elegant]

No two trips were ever the same. But memory seems to serve up a generic trip somehow. Always busy , always adventurous and exciting one way or another. And we always had an overall plan that could me massaged to suit the mission. No two plans were the same either. We serviced three logging companies and two helicopter logging outfits that kept us busy with crew changes as far away as Alaska.

These were the glory days alright , the early nineties.

I'd flown my hundred or so hours of fire bombing in the Yukon and was in the nine months R and R mode that was required to return me back to normal life..... only to go do it again.

So I get a call from my friend , Sir Cumference (Big Howie), a man of ample girth with opinions to match. He tells me of our two collegues , Loui and Milt , who had returned from an auction in the US having bought an old Navajo that they had convinced themselves that Walter , of Walter's Bulldozing needed. This was a surprise to Walter , especially at three am from two drunken varmints in the centre of the USA. Well , friends are friends , so Walter coughs up the seventy grand and goes back to work in the bush.

So the Navajo sat at the Chilliwack airport until it was revealed that there hatched a plan to do crew changes up North to Bella Coola , for Walter's road building company , about a two hour trip maybe once a week. Well , nobody knew how to go about it. But , Big Howie did ... so he phones me. Yep! I'm interested so Walter's Mrs phones me and told me to go check out the airplane and tell her what I thought of the plan. Howie and I studied the manual , finished our coffee and took her for a burn. I liked it very much and accepted the part time job. I guess I would meet the boss on the first crew change up North. We spent some time together in Bella Coola while the crews were taken in to the floating camp by Beaver and it became quickly evident that once a week wasn't enough , especially when we discussed the possibility of flying spare parts and dynamite too. I immediately found the flying to be fun and very challenging especially since I had no current instrument rating and these wet coastal mountainous conditions were not a place for a tenderfoot. Besides , I sure want to get to know this airplane before I try the deadly concoction of an IFR/VFR mix.

The Bella Coola airport, flanked by rocky , slabbed sided mountains up to ten thousand feet , was Wilderness Airlines territory , always had been. In fact , it was they who flew our crew in on the Beavers and upon whose Navajos and King Airs , our crews used to travel.

The Duke was the new kid on the block and about as popular as a pork chop in a synagogue to the Airline management. But Hey! A buck is a buck and Walter has his rights.

[Duke Elegant]

There was a rough airstrip , good for Cessna 206's and Islanders , about seventeen kilometers from the inlet where the barge upon which the whole camp including about forty rooms was located. We decided that Walter was not short of D8 Cats , trucks and graders so at his own expense he revived the road and the airstrip to include Navajos. This cut out the costly floatplane charters and now we could go direct from our home base directly into camp.

And poof! There went my nine months off a year. This was now a full time job that I had a passion for , given that I played a huge role in the business planning and execution. I learned a whole new industry in a matter of months and quickly gained an efficient relationship with parts suppliers , logging management and so on.

It quickly became evident to all the other contractors in camp that we were DIRECTLY involved with the industry that was rapidly becoming our specialty. We already flew direct to camp from Vancouver Island too. We were a private operator up until now so in order to legally procure their business , an operating certificate would have to be put in place.

I was so busy flying that Walters Mrs hired an expensive consultant to slog through the paperwork but he was ex government and worked so slowly that rigor mortis set in.... so I punted him and quickly discovered that paperwork was the weakest skill in my otherwise handsome inventory.

Once again , I survived this emergency by dealing the Jack from the back of the pack.

[Duke Elegant]

And I was falling in love again too. Her smooth , shapely form was the colour of slightly suntanned breasts with tanned nipple coulored trim and polished prop spinners protruding in a saucy manner. Navajos have quite a perky stance and a feline purr with the occasional synchronic buzz akin to that of a sex toy. Aah she was luring me away from my comfortable but nimble old harlot , the A26 Invader.


Or was it the challenge that encompassed more that my flying skills?. This challenge required fiscal sense and discipline comensureate with the banking industry. My resume would have read : Grade 10 Education but schooled by Hector Stone (for whom I worked at the dog track).

I would forgo the priveledges of a privateer for this tempting full time job right out of my home airport. I bargained the freedom of being a contract pilot for a wad of cash. But I made one last bleating request of Walter that I could do six weeks (half a season) of fire bombing , just to wean myself of the addiction to both the A26 and fire bombing itself. He agreed so I quickly checked out Gordon , our very capable contract maintainence engineer and went on a mini adventure.

Upon my return , I would build an airline.

[Duke Elegant]

I'd split my summer contract with an old curmudgeon and fellow contract pilot , Butch Foster , who in his retirement years kept busy by building and flying small airplanes , fire bombing in the summer and sharing his passion with his students at the Springbank Airport.

So instead of paying for an expensive consultant to draw up the application for the Operating Certificate , I cunningly diverted that money towards the hiring of an assistant. So Honest Ken , our local aircraft broker highly reccommended a young local lad who had flawlessly completed some photographic missions out on the praries and sold me a plane while he was at it.

This young chap , also called Ken , was a little shy of the flying hours I was looking for but he possessed two items I could use , an instructor rating and a university degree.

Ah ! It was like Flying Scorcery the way I played my magic..... and a little flying school appeared.... with a Cessna Cardinal as the trainer and future light charter and rental aircraft.

Now with my new access to a university education the slogging paper war was waged to a successful conclusion and Timberline Air Ltd began operations. I was the operations manager , chief pilot , maintainence co-ordinator , dispatcher and pilot. Ken was an instructor , secretary , dispatcher , safety officer , pilot and swamper. The generous owners , Walter and Mrs W were well respected , hard working people.

Whilst awaiting the certificate , we got the nod to install the latest in Navigation technology .... Loran C. We were so excited at the chance to escape reliance on a distant VOR/DME position when trapped on top of cloud pierced by jagged peaks above ten thousand feet. We would search for a hole and auger down VFR, gear and flaps extended so as to keep power on , only to lose the VOR below the peaks and then transition to rainy , foggy map reading and local knowledge to scud run into the narrow valley where your destination tried to deny you access. And Vortex Generators too. We put them on as soon as we heard of the benefits to doing so and thereby saved their cost many times over especially with tires and brakes.

We were swamped with work right out of the gate and thankfully , under the excellent maintainence performed by Firkus Aircraft , the old 'Ho rode some rough and tough ground in bad conditions at full gallop. She carried crews , tools , spares , explosives , large 1000lb hydraulic cylinders , truck radiators saws , beer and so on ....in and out of short gravel strips carved into hillsides and valley bottoms only to be asked to perform the ballet of an IFR approach in rain , fog and ice ... right down to the numbers at home.

And the Christmas bonus ... wow ....

It just doesn't get any better than this.


..............then , one day .....

[Duke Elegant]

Sometimes , just when you think things can't get better , they do.

It was our first winter off as the deep snows had choked the loggers out of the mountains , inlets froze up and road building ceased. There was a slackening of the pace so the old 'Ho was sent to the barn for a makeover and lots of catch-up maintainence , after all she'd been ridden hard all summer and fall. Ken kept our small flyiong school busy producing eager young students that saw a future right here at our home airport.
I had to produce,

We spent enjoyable times shopping for a King Air while at the same time working the financial sorcery required for a million dollar purchase , made simpler with Walter's sound financial history. I , too , had a hand in this magic with promises of contracts to support helicopter logging operations as far away as Alaska. You see I had many friends from the old wild days who were now Operations Managers of these companies and the like.

We found a beautiful King Air 100 in Witchita the colour of which matched our stationery so we bought her.

Since she was now my new steed , I trained Ken on the old 'Ho and it soon became obvious that we required the services of a dispatcher/secretary so Walter's daughter was appointed.

It was time to piss on my own territory.

This did not meet with my approval as more family creeping into the equation meant a danger of loss of automy so I refused. However , I would be delighterd to HIRE her with clear view as to who was the lead dog. Remember , the lead dog has the best view.

So she worked for me , not her parents.

Well she sure was purty and she sure was perky.

As soon as we launched into a very busy season it became evident that Denise was super efficient and a comfortable working bond was formed fuelled by success.

The whole family was hard working , successful , honest and very generous.

In the King Air I soared higher , faster and further but I became a victim of my own success. Stress.
Even though I learned to deal with it , it stalked me nonethe less. The difficult scheduling of numerous logging companies became unwieldy but I soldiered on.

One dictatorial camp superintendant , who far too often indulged in the cups , challenged me. You would have to know how foolish it is to throw down the gauntlet in front of the Duke and he tried to change the way I do things.

So quite late on a Friday night , long after I'd hung up my spurs , I got a call from Walter on the radio phone from Taleomy River. "I want you to get in the Navajo tomorrow early in the morning with Denise , bring the flight schedules , pick me up at Taleomey and we will go to Kimsquit and sort this out."

"Piss off!" says I as I had already coaxed one petite breast from its security and had plans for the second. I had already determined that the post coital rest period extended into my next duty period.

"Tell you what Walter ," says I , "You phone me at 8am tomorrow and I will tell you if this job is worth it or not. Is it really worth the stress ... hell! I've flown my bag off ten days straight. And by the way ..I will not change anything anyhow... no way .!" I hung up.

She squirmed and giggled as the second popped free.

True to form , Walter phones me at 8 am and informs me that he understands how busy I have been but not to worry , he will have Ken fly the Navajo up with Walter, his wife , Denise and her husband and they will make a day of it since the weather was perfect.

WOW! You gotta love this company.

The phone call that jangled into my life at 3 PM that day was chilling .... chilling indeed....

[Duke Elegant]

There is a lesson here ... so pay attention

[the wizard of auz]

Well..................I'm listening.

[barleyhi]

Great stories Duke

Was at Point Cook in 69 just after you, brings back memories!

Hope you health is on the improve and keep up the good work.......

regards

Barleyhi

[Herc Jerk]

Thanks for the excellent stories Duke... we're all listening!!:ok:

I have really enjoyed reading through your yarns on Avacanada, in fact the first time i found them i spent the rest of the day reading, spellbound...

Your dog charters are legend in that beautiful land north of home.

My respect, Duke, and godspeed,

HJ

[Duke Elegant]

.

It was Ken , on the radiophone , calling from Taleomey River.

His voice , a monotone but spiced with an undertone of fear , related the story ....

The meeting had gone well up North in Kimsquit and the cantankerous old superintendant and Walter came to an agreement but still , nothing changed. And Bud , another road building company owner took the oppurtunity to get home on a Saturday and happily boarded for the trip to Taleomey where Walter was to be dropped and fuel taken on.

We had built a fuel shed with a barrel pump on one side for the Jet fuel and another on the opposite side for avgas. About a dozen or so barrells are stored inside and we had appropriate grounding straps and "no smoking" signs. Each pump had a go/no go filter ... we spared no expense.

Ken fueled while Walter and Bud were having quite a discussion while Walter changed the pump to another barrel and at the same time , Denise and her mum , Mrs W , walked away up the strip for a cigarette and returned. Denise was eager to learn her new job and went into the shed and looked about. She came back outside and said to Ken , "Hey this may sound like a dumb question , but does the Navajo take Jet fuel?"

Ken froze and released the lever. Pale and ashen he went into the shed and there it was , the last barrel had been Jet B.

You see the barrels are coloured blue , both Jet and avgas. No colour difference at all. Tiny stencilled white lettering is the only way to determine which type of fuel.

Whoever loaded the drums into the shed had not sorted them.

So there we were with two drums of Jet B in the Navajo ,

I had come within an atom of losing the whole family , a pilot and another CEO.

A simple question had turned the tide on fate

[Duke Elegant]

Just to correct my story , it was determined that the first barrel pumped was Avgas because Ken smelled it and looked at the colour before putting the nozzle all the way in.

Anyhow , here is a post that should also make us all sit up and pay attention. It was in answer to the same story I told on another site.

enigma

Wow, Duke...

That last one hit a little too close to home for me....

About 4 years ago, I had my first flying job with Sundance Air, a 135 freight dog outfit in Denver. At one of the 0-dark-thirty show times I was a little sluggish in waking so my perception wasn't the most fine-tuned. I sluffed my way through the pre-flight thinking that everything was checked to my satisfaction. It wasn't.

It seems the Ronnie the Rookie was driving the 3rd shift fuel truck and hadn't fueled a Navajo yet. The "pristine" airplanes that we had weren't equipped with "100LL only" stickers by the fuel caps. Ronnie tried to jam the Jet-A nozzle in the 100LL hole and eventually decided that a slow, thin stream of fuel was the correct way to fuel the good ol' "Ho".

Seeing that the airplane had been in for maintenance, the fuel levels were quite low prior to getting the erroneous refuel. There was just enough 100LL in the bottom of the tank and the fuel lines to get me out to the runway and up to 60 knots before the engines quit, subsequently burning out the turbos and dumping thick, black smoke out the exhaust stacks. About 40 more knots and a "positive rate" would have seen me at the other end of the runway in a heap. Talk about dumb luck. I now watch the line guys rather closely when getting fuel. Lesson learned...

SK

[Duke Elegant]

C-GJGQ


She sits there , all folorn and devoid of soul. . her wings spread wide and as ready as they could ever be.

But alas! She would never fly again.

She is settled down to the axles in the soft ground , all alone , outside the aviation museum in Victoria B.C. I see the captain's window is left wide open to the weather. It is empty. The window does not frame a face, the face of the last man to fly her .... me.

Her bulbous gear doors look like her bloomers have slipped down to her ankles as the deflated oleos allow her to squat in the mud.... her tailfeathers overgrown by tangled blackberries .

A retired old "queen of the skies" you may ask. .... sadly ... no.

She is an ugly old bird whose carcass has been pecked clean by her sisters ... the three other not so glamourous members of the flock as they struggled for survival by robbing her of body parts until her will was gone and her inventory empty. She is a bag of bones.

But did they steal her soul?

Allow me to share with you , her final flight. It sure was interesting.

May she RIP


http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/displayimage.php?album=1&pos=1

[Duke Elegant]

I had to cover all bases ... I had to find that one little thing that this old harlot could use to kill me. So with a light fuel load we pressurised the fuel system looking for and fixing leaks . The hydraulic system leaked badly but I had decided to go wheels down and locked because the gear had not been swung for two years and some of the flight was over water and I wanted the option of being able to suck up the landing gear in the event of an engine failure. To touch the water with wheels down is fatal as the cockpit slams into the water ahead of ten tons of metal.


Our communications package consisted of a hand held radio and a cell phone. Instruments? Well .. I only needed an airspeed indicator for flight but I insisted on ALL engine guages so I had to make a fast flight to Victoria in the Baron. A light rain was falling as I landed back in Nanaimo and I saw the engineers tidying her up and lockwiring everything that needed it while Inspector Dick Head sat in his car pretending to rumage in his brief case. The engineers seemed to be smiling ... and waiting for something to happen ....

I did not dissapoint them.

I had wandered over to the big aluminium beast when I spied something amiss. There they were ... sticking out like dog's balls.... the gear pins IN ... flagged and everything. They were RED. So was the bull in me. I flung those pins at the government car but they fell short but I kept coming , frothing vehemence. The window went up. "Is that sweat on his lip , .....or snot? " thinks I.

He had made a poor decision to attempt to overide mine. He must have been confused when I respectfully asked for my ferry permit. Now he wanted to "inspect" the airplane. It didn't take him long to see the hole where the stall speed lever was , something we had forgotten to tape over ... but he blurts out.... "You have to have a stall speed indicator " he gleefully blubbers on ...."and ... and y "

I know you are playing for time , thinks I. He is off at 3.30. I know you don't have to have a stall horn but he can stretch this out.... think fast.... I look at the Baron. I may have to speed to Victoria ... I may but the egineer who walked me to the plane had a screwdriver and quickly removed the one on the Baron with nary a chance it would fit the curvature. He took it nonetheless and was installed on the DC3 .... heh! Heh! Heh! ..... upside down.....it did fit the curve that way.

It was enough to fool a fool. But , permit in hand it is time to aviate...

[Duke Elegant]

Well it seems that I must be one of the luckiest guys alive. I really needed to finish the story I started about old JGQ , the derelect C117 Super DC3 and its final ferry flight.

For the last week I have drifted in and out of bouts of pain that the morphine fails to arrest completely but I promise I will finish the tale.

But I must share something with you all.

I am indeed the luckiest guy alive. As far as my health status goes , I now have a chip light. Yes , the big C is overtaking my innards but as it states in the checklist , you do not shut down the engine on account of a chip light and you proceed to destination while monitoring all other guages.

Today was a good day. A young pilot insisted he buy me a beer so off to the pub we go only to run into people that were concerned that they haven't seen me for a while.

Friends.... wow! ... what a resource. I am truly blessed. I am talking about all types of friends. Its is amazing. Some of the rougher/tougher blokes can show clear emotions , some touching me , some hugging and some glassy eyed. But all had the same message.

So over ambles my mate Teddy. I guess a whole bunch of my other mates from the past came up with a plan and Teddy was the messenger.

They want to have a pre-funeral pissup in a hall with a band and everything, some thinking this would be macabre and spooky but the general consensus was that I could handle it.

I sure can.

It seems that my friends want to say stuff now , not while I am in the box with my arms crossed and a blank look on my face.

It doesn't get any better than that , does it?

[scran]

Outstanding idea on their part Duke.


Have a great time there......they all obviously care a lot about you......and I'm sure everyone here wishes you all the best.....

On Ya Digga!!!! :ok: :ok: :ok: :ok: :ok:

[Duke Elegant]

I just thought I would take a peek at my thread thereby being the fifteen thousandth view.
Thank you all for making me feel good.

And thank you Danny.

[Pinky the pilot]

Duke; Thank you for sharing these stories with us all. I only wish that someday they would be published!
God bless you my friend!

You only live twice. Once when
you're born. Once when
you've looked death in the face.

[BOAC]

DE - here's to the next 15.000. Have one hell of a party! You have some great pals.

[E. MORSE]

IF YOU'RE GOING THROUGH HELL,

KEEP GOING.

I LIKE YOU A LOT DUKE.

[Duke Elegant]

It was tough to drag my arse off the couch given that my bowels are bound up tighter that a bull's arse in fly season but it was an offer that I couldn't refuse ... a call from my young friend Mark. He more or less insisted that he was coming up in his Yak to pick me up and fly to Arlington Washington for the airshow where it was promised that many of my friends would be there and there was lots of good flying to enjoy.

I had flown his Yak before and had carressed this lithe beauty into some smooth aeros and so I settled into the familiar back seat for the thirty minute trip that took me to the Mecca of aviation. You see people at their best at these events and even the customs clearance was both friendly and enjoyable.

We parked in the warbird section next to the Mustang , two Grumman Wildcats , T28's , T6 Texans , 2 L39 jets , Beech 18's , more Yaks, numerous ultralights , homebuilts and restored classics ... hundreds of motor homes , tents and thousands of people with some camped for a week or more.

We then made our way to Camp Sea Bee , a group of outlaw aviators and performers on the fringe. They are the true Rat Pack in the aviation world and yet were always visited by the top performers and aviators and even some aviation loving Transport Canada inspectors on their own time.

They had circled the wagons way off in the far corner but failed to be invisible to the lawmen whose visits bacame more frequent as the week rolled on. And sure enough , there were many of my friends at this den of iniquity where the overwhelming presence of His Immenseness , Jerry Janes , presided. The party was in full swing with a background of tumbling Sukhois and Yaks , snarling ballets of John Mazurecks T6 , Mustangs and all manner of antics but I was most impressed with the gasoline powered marguirita machine that produced two gallons a minute and I was soon to become one of it's victims. The mix of morphine and marguritas felled me like an ox after a brief period of laughs and tales of daring-do so I rested in one of the motor homes only to be awakened later by some bagpipe music that tempted me to rejoin the meelee..

The grandson of His Immenseness at the tender age of fifteen or so was the piper and his younger brother was playing the kettle drum with much flourish and were joined by a young sixteen year old princess with enormous talent. They played with such beauty and finesse that even the oft harrased neighbours couldn't resist to come and enjoy this pleasurable example of youth. I had a bad case of the shakes and couldn't stand up so I settled into a chair with the lovely Donna comforting me. Bud Granley , probably the best living airshow performer (he does a snap roll just after take off in a T6 that defies logic) wrapped my old bag of bones in his jacket as we enjoyed the pipes. I shook like an old radial engine with a bad mag and three plugs oiled up.

Bud wanders off to the pipers ... I sense something going on ...a quick glance at grandpa Jerry ... he is in on it too.

Bud speaks as the crowd hushes. He draws attention to our friends and fallen aviators and suggests we sould never forget them and I am touched.

But then .... " and to them we pay tribute , but also we should pay tribute to those amongst us who will soon pass on ... (a powerful pause) ...and this is now dedicated to Duke Elegant."

First one piper .... Amazing Grace ... the haunting , powerful wailing of the pipes..... and then the second piper kicks in.

My cancer , the pain , the shakes ... all displaced by a joy hitherto unimagined..... hands on by bony , wasted shoulders ... Bud , Mark , Paul , Donna. And a glance at Big Jerry so proud of his grandkids ... this beauty awash in tears of joy.

And all I could say was "It seems like everything is OK."

[Duke Elegant]

Well it is official now.

The "pre funeral pissup" is 25th July at the Transwest Helicopter hangar in Chilliwack and starts early afternoon with a roast pig , BBQ salmon and a band later. So far there are 150 people and all aviators are welcome.

My family including grandchildren and daughter from Montreal will be here for the afternoon festivities.

I sure have wierd friends eh?
_________________

[lofty50]

Duke, I guess like many of your readers, I travel a lot and cannot keep up to speed on your story. I am in tears reading your last posts. I am so happy for you that you have so many friends, what more could any man wish than to have the love and friendship you have. God speed, and thank you for so many hours of enjoyment reading your stories of your life. I hope to meet such a man as you in the afterlife.

Lofty

[Skylark4]

Duke,
I have a job for you.
I had a word with my Guardian Angel and pointed out that I had this old friend I'd never heard about until a few days ago who was likely to be looking for a new post. He didn't say anything but I'm sure he understands. When you see him, thank him for all he's done for me so far. You are welcome in my cockpit anytime.

I forwarded the details of your Party to Butch Foster. I don't know if he'll get it though. He's a bit new on the internet and I think he may be flying 'his' B26 in BC at the moment.

Good luck in your new adventure.

Mike W

[Jet Dragon]

Duke

I don't know you but wish I did. I have thoroughly enjoyed the stories you have posted on this forum and thank you for that.

You are an incredibly brave man - and like others have felt very emotional on reading of your latest trials and tribulations.

Good luck - God speed and thankyou

JD

[Maxflyer]

Duke,

I have two sons. One is 12 going on 32! I notice how he is being influenced by aspects of our society that I find somewhat distasteful (I'm sure my parents felt the same). I am going to insist that he reads the whole thread from start to finish so as to get the feel for what is decent, funny and inspiring. All these traits are reflected by you and your anecdotes.

Thank you so much for your bravery and inspiration. Have a wonderful time at your bash and again, thank you.

[Duke Elegant]

The job in Peace River Alberta had gone quite smoothly considering I was a new Captain on the Casa 212 and the flat terrain of Alberta made it easy to master the art of EM survey flying which was very different from straight Magnetometer flying I had been doing up on James Bay (Attawapaskat) in a Caravan.

We waited for Eric , my co-captain who was also a brand new captain and we had attended the same course in Ottawa. Eric had had some trouble on the course , mainly due to his native toungue , French, but we all spent extra time helping him think in English for the standard operating procedures in a two crew enviroment. Some of us got together after hours in the cockpit of the Casa in the hangar and went through procedures over and over until he was more comfortable. He was a very pleasant chap and we saw the value in this small investment. We had heard that he was a very good pilot. I , too , asked help of a young first officer, Chris , in matters that I did not fully understand.

This next mission was daunting to say the least especially for two rookies. Two other captains had turned down the job because it was way up north above the Arctic Circle and was a tent camp on the barrens of Baffin Island. The engineer was a rookie too , a Greek immigrant called Stathi Popadoppagoppabobbopolis or something. He had been making arrangements to fly south and then the long way around by airlines in order to fly in comfort and arrive on Baffin on the HS748 charter which bore our spares and supplies. I vetoed this by assuming the role of benovelent dictator and informed Ottawa that he was to fly with us. That's the way it is, I informed him after phoning many layers over even his boss's head.... and besides ... I was a Duke.

We launched for Yellowknife , North West Territories where we needed a hangar for preventitive maintainence since we were bare-assed to the elements for the next few months. This was also the departure point for some very long legs over very barren territory with very few alternate airports.

So the Frenchman , the Greek and the Aussie took off on an adventure of a lifetime.
_________________

[Duke Elegant]

The Casa 212 is a chubby little speedster powered by two Dash 10 Garretts of a thousand horsepower each. Designed as a Spanish military troop carrier and cargo aeroplane it is ideal for the electro-magnetic survey role by virtue of its large interior that can accomodate small military vehicles easily loaded by a hydraulic ramp. By adding twin booms protruding from the nose and a large box section boom jutting from the tail, a six strand loop of heavy cables are strung around the whole aircraft (laid horizontally and steadied by arrows that resemble missiles) that pound a million or so millivolts of power into the ground. Once airborne , two "birds" that resemble cruise missiles are let out by their respective winches to trail behind and measure magnetic anomilies produced by ore bodies and oil and gas pockets. It has a surprisingly comfortable and well laid out cockpit that is a blessing when flying long missions close to the ground for hours on end. But no longer a speedster , it is more of a contraption with banks of electronics and AC/DC converters in back including an operators station.

So with the birds winched up against the ramp door , loaded with spares , personal gear, tool boxes and survival gear we droned off to Yellowknife at a blistering 140 knots. We are to meet our Polish operator Jerzy on site and the time in Yellowknife is spent on maintainence and visits with many friends flying Buffalo Joe's DC4's , C46 Curtis Commandos and DC3's. Yellowknife is a Mecca of bush aviation and Buffalo Joe immeditaely offered me a job as DC4 captain but Fugro Airborne Surveys had stuck with me during my first battle with cancer and my loyalty to them was resolute. This loyalty today is paying off many times over.

The company had rewarded us with a large stash of beer and whiskey for the job well done in Peace River and this would be very welcome in a tent camp for sure.

Flight planning for the next leg was complicated by the summer Arctic sea fog that blanketed the northern route via Gjoa Haven and Cambridge Bay so we had no choice but to take the Baker Lake and Hall Beach route that involved nearly four hour legs with very distant alternates so a window of opportunity was sought where there were no headwinds.

We droned high above the barrens that became devoid of trees but replaced by rugged eskers that looked as if they had been scratched into the Canadian shield by the almighty when he was in an angry mood ... they all ran in the same directiion and offered little solace in the event of an emergency landing. The famous Baker Lake cariboo migration herds were too far North for our viewing and we were instead rewarded by the nothingness of Baker Lake where we landed with bare reserves for refuelling. The leg to Hall Beach , an Eskimo villiage on the shores of the still iced up Artic Ocean was mostly in or above cloud. Icing was our enemy as ice would quickly form on the loop causing it to hump thereby giving a ten minute warning prior to plummeting to earth with the glide angle of a greased crowbar. This villiage seemed friendly enough and relatively clean but we elected to push on to Dewer Lakes on Baffin Island which was a Dew Line radar site and our home for the coming months.
Very rugged , rocky mountains loomed on all points of the compass.

Upon arrival we noticed the automatic radar site high up on the hill , a well prepared gravel runway and our teeny camp on the banks of a frozen river. We hadn't seen a tree since Yellowknife. Some cariboo wandered the strip but soon dispersed with the shrieking whine of the Garrets and we parked on the cleared ramp in a cloud of dust. Two all terrain vehicles greeted us , one driven by the data processor and the other by Jerzy , the operator, and these were our only means of transportaion which was OK since there was nowhere to go anyway.

With gear piled high we made our way to the camp over rocks , all the same size , all the wrong size ... even walking was a chore over these devil's marbles.

Enroute , Dave the data processor told me with some foreboding that I won't believe the BHP Australia female geophysicist that was on site. He chuckled and grinned and shook his head often.

The Arctic wind with no warning ambushed us and with the dusk approaching , a shiver enveloped me as we approached camp.

And then I saw her.

[LowNSlow]

Duke I've read (and re-read) your posts with huge enjoyment. Very inspirational and cautionary stuff.

I would love to be able to come to the pissup on the 25th but I'm stuck the other side of the world. I'll raise a glass of vodka or two to you at the time though

Good luck and bon voyage :ok: :ok:

[Bush Driver]

Duke,

It was wonderful to see you the other day, and thanks for introducing me to the Chilliwack pie-excellent stuff.

Just in case I didn't say it effectively last monday, I wanted you to know the tremendous inspiration you have been to me, not only in the flying arena, but in life aswell. Your advice to me has been registered, and the path you suggested for the next few months will be taken.

I've learned a great deal from you in these last few years, lessons that will not be forgotten, but the greatest thing that I can say is, that I have been indeed fortunate to have received your friendship. Thank You!

[Sawmill Broad]

Seems I have been upgraded from Sawmill Broad to:
Secretary to the Duke!

He tells me I should be honoured.

I am.

For everyone's information, he had taken a turn for the worse and has been in hospital since Friday evening (July16) in considerable pain. Our medical system sucks but perseverence prevails and the good news is that his CT today showed that there is a surgery that can be done to eleviate this. This will happen tomorrow evening so everyone out there should send positive energy his way.

The great 'piss-up'(celebration of his life) will go on this Sunday at the airport in Chilliwack and he will be there either on gurney or else!
That's what he says and I believe it!

He asked me to post this for note for him.

[brockenspectre]

{{{HUGZZZZ}}} dear Duke Elegant hope the op is useful and that you are sufficiently well recovered to imbibe one or several on Sunday!! It would have been fun to be with y'all on 25th (to put faces to names and your face to all the stories!) but instead I will raise a glass of something bubbly to you!! :ok:

luv brockie (avid reader of the thread!) :)

[John James]

Thanks for sharing Duke. .
Here's a poem I wrote in Sept 2000 inspired by the Book of John:


WARM HEART

The people before us
Leave their presence
About us
In the minds of those
Who know us
We see again
Our past.


jj

God Bless

[Sawmill Broad]

Hi Everyone,

Just got the word - the surgery was successful but he will be critical for the next 5 days. He is doing well!
The doc did say he would be at the soiree on Sunday so here's hoping...

Because if he isn't, I fear a very crowded hospital room on that day!

I know he will love to hear from you so if you have any comments I will be taking them to the hosp. for him.

Thanks for the good wishes! I will keep you posted.

[angels]

What can I say?

Make that piss-up Duke.....

[DishMan]

Duke,

We've never met (unfortunately for me).

However, like many here, I take inspiration from your posts.

Here's wishing you a speedy recovery from this op and I know you will enjoy the mini Bash in your honour - well deserved.


:ok:

[whiz]

Hey Duke,

Ive got some of that ten year paint we talked about. Lemme me know where the boat is and I'll do the first coat. But Im leaving the fine artwork to you .... Hang in there !!

Be thinking of you Sunday ...... Cheers !

[LowNSlow]

Get a drinks tray fitted to the gurney and get over to the pissup.

Good luck with the recovery and we are all looking forward to your next posting.

[Sawmill Broad]

Duke is recovering quite well as of today. Even had some colour in his cheeks this morning. Very much looking forward to the event on Sunday and will be holding court as promised.

Everyone is welcome and the nearest pub/beer & wine store is only a short walk from the hangar. The weather promises a sultry (?) 38 degrees! So bring ice.

[pigboat]

Great news Sawmill Broad! :ok:
I'm 2500 miles east, but I'll be hoisting a lemonade on Sunday to The Duke. :cool:

[M. I. Icarus?]

Here's to you Duke, all today's drinks are hoisted with you in mind, hope to see you back on Jetblast soon.

[Keef]

Can't see properly through the tears, but greetings to the Duke, and I hope the p*$$up went well.

My prayers are with you, along with my thanks for some wonderful tales.

[Chimbu chuckles]

Hey Duke...just been reading this thread from the beginning...so many places, names, aeroplanes, adventures and fun drunken times do we share...a few years apart but that is about all.

My first job in Aviation was flying P2-BAF, an early 60s model C185, based in Chimbu when I had < 400hrs. Years in Talair followed and Air Niugini...13+ in PNG...Brian McCook was like a second father and stand in Grandad for my daughter. Meg Taylor a good friend who wanted my, then girlfriend now ex wife, to accompany her to the US as a tutor for children. if she had I wouldn't now be the proud (single) parent of a wonderfull teenage girl.

So many other names and faces we share. Now I sit in a B767 back and forth to Europe from Asia but still fly light aircraft often..many years ago I had a C185, now a Bonanza..keeps me poor but oh what fun!!!

Your adventures and stories are wonderfull and remind some of us of our own misspent youths in the 'Land of the Unexpected'.

Masta, ol tok tok bilong yu e gutpela tru. Ol manmeri husat i savi yupela I kamap hamamas tru long olgeta sumting long yu.

Dispela sik bilong yu ino bikpela sumting...emi samting nating...heart bilong yu bikpela tru..em tasol.

Planti narapela Masta (Ol drivman bilong Balus) i go untap long peles long taim bipo..na ol i wiat i stap long yu. Planti bia na gutpela meri I stap...na olsem Balus.

Stap isi pren bilong mipela..yu numba wun tasol.

Chuck.

[Sawmill Broad]

Hey Everyone!

I will attempt to re-cap the events of the pissup for the Duke as best I can. While I am not the story teller that he is, for sure, I’ll do my best to paint the picture of Sunday for you. Would have done this yesterday but it was a little foggy here!

The shindig on Sunday was awesome! It was a beautiful day – clear sky, slight breeze, warm temperatures, loads and loads of friends and family, a very fat pig on a spit, heaps of Chilliwack corn, and plenty of grog.

The Duke arrived in grand style in his private limo-of-the-day (a shiny ambulance organized by another good friend!) complete with his own private nurse (another good friend!) standing by. He had managed to convince the doctors that he really needed to be holding court this day and they agreed to give him the day pass! Of course! And so, complete with all the plumbing, as Treefrog previously noted, he arrived as planned to a standing ovation! I must also mention that he was wearing the strangest socks……. I believe he called them his ‘sex socks’......not sure what that means???

A very good friend arranged to have the Cadillac of motor homes available for him to rest in occasionally as well and his daughter Meghan affixed – very appropriately – a giant gold star on the door with his name on it!

One of our local bands – Ernie Britton and the boys - came out to play some pretty great music as well and another friend – Patsy - sang a couple of songs just for Duke. One being Amazing Grace and there was not a dry eye anywhere! She sang it so beautifully and with the Duke were his daughters on either side of him and the grandkids nearby as well.

I’m still not sure of the identity of the pilots, but there were a few, who put on a show of some really great formations and fly-overs. They also performed the missing man formation….. There were lots of speeches; the Duke also had a few words to say.

I will try to get a statement from the Duke himself and post it. He stayed a very long time and is tired but he loved every minute of it! It was a very emotional day and one that I will not forget.

I hope to get a few of Duke’s own words here soon. Thanks to everyone who helped make it an unbelievable day for Duke. It was really special for him and his family.

[LowNSlow]

Sawmill Broad it sounds like the friends and family did Duke proud on the day.

I'm sure there were a few hangovers and swollen bellies from the beer and the pig :ok: :ok:

[angels]

Sawmill - Absolutely fantastic.

Can't wait for Duke's view of events.

[coco-nuts]

I salute you wantok.
take care.

[tinpis]

Ok..ok..Duke you got the most TAA hosties I give up.

Behain mi lukim yu fella.

tinpis

[visibility3miles]

Dear Duke,

I have never met you, but I really enjoy reading your stories.

The big C is hard to beat, but it hasn't taken your spirit, for which I am truly grateful.

Best wishes.

Blue skies.

[Duke Elegant]

.

I am back.

I arrived at home today more details later. I gotta spin up my gyros.

The first story I wrote on this forum was about the lobster tossing adventure that happened out over the Atlanti with a failed engine that would not feather because of the broken crankshaft.

After the party , which was the most profound event that I have EVER attended ,it was like the second engine failed and my health
plumeted because the colostomy bag failed to operate and it was pretty much Bye Bye Duke as I went through indesscrible pain in a morphine crazy nightmare. I had taken a look at the door.

With such amazing skill and professionalism they again got me going. You will NEVER understand the admiration I have for the nursing staff , doctors and surgeons.

And your kind , supportive encouragement gave me strength.

I am the luckiest guy alive.

[pigboat]

Great to see ya back Duke! :ok:

[barleyhi]

Glad to hear you had a great day, Duke.

From experience with my own colostomy bag I found the hardest thing was finding matching shoes!!!!

Keep your pecker up,

Warm regards

Barleyhi

[lokione]

Have been reading your stories from Australia Duke and just want to wish you all the best. This thread is inspirational and what a delight to read 14 pages of POSITIVE stuff!!!:ok:
Keep writing - I am waiting for the book.

[Niaga Dessip]

Great stuff, Duke! I too have had cause to be grateful to the medical profession.

I don't want to gush, and you know what we all feel. I will just say that this thread is the first thing I go to when I fire up the mac. Keep up the good work, Pal.:ok:

Niaga Dessip - don't look back! ;)

[LowNSlow]

Welcome back Duke. Keep the fight going :ok: :ok:

[Duke Elegant]

Sorry , I had another setback. But I will finish my stories tomorrow.
Duke

[pigboat]

Sorry to hear that Duke. :(

I see on another board that Cat Driver says he'll call you this weekend if he's back from Holland. If you got a copy of Larry Milberry's book about Austin Airways handy, take a look at the upper left pic on page 133. Cat Driver told me that's how he met his first wife. ;)

[Duke Elegant]

Back on page four is the Baffin Island story , this being the continuation thereof.

She had shed her thick woolen arctic geoligist work clothes and was freshly bathed ... oh how she did glide into the main tent , catlike and she did enormous justice to the track suit she so graciously filled. For a moment , I had impure thoughts. Her face was that of a classical beauty framed by wet aurburn hair not yet dried. Her soft , cultured Australian accent was like sweet music to the ear. I swear she could have even turned a Taliban away from goat sex. She introduced herself as Margo but we called her Queenie.

Once the all terrain vehicles had transferred our gear from the aircraft to the tents , the terms of the contract and the safety briefing was conducted. The first item on the agenda was to advise us that normal BHP policy was for a dry camp. We were all aghast as we had our hard earned booty (a handsome reward for the last job well done) stashed and it was to be surrendered. We pleaded on this issue and came to a comprimise since I assured her that we would not violate any agreement that was forthcoming and a very pleasant deal was struck whereby we were allowed to drink the beer in the mess tent only (which we shared with the camp boss and the cook). The whiskey was displayed in a prominent place there to remain untouched until the contract end. All was OK.

Except that , once again I drew the Jack from the back of the pack. A smelly garbage bag in the garbage can in the back of the aircraft sat atop our real booty of vodka and rum.

The contract had been scheduled for earlier in the year so now the weather swung from biting arctic winds to hot , dry spells puncuated by confusing snow pellets , flakes and gusts. Morale was in danger of plummeting as many technical adjustments were being made and particularly frustrated Jerzy , the top technical man who was also the airborne operator and they had all recently been stripped of their flying incentive pay so he was in his rights to fly one trip per day which would prolong our sentence in these barrens. He was constantly having to change the settings on the huge DC/DC converter back and forth with different megahertz settings. I cunningly came up with a solution to this morale problem which I will relate shortly. Then our airborne equipment had to be calibrated involving many short flights up and down the runway at 200 , 300 , 400 , five hundred feet and so on .... This remote gravel strip was a DEW line military site and therefore not availlable to the public and in fact our company paid $5000/day for the use thereof.

Eager to fly , Eric and I flashed up the screaming beast and with a call to Arctic radio began our monotonous flights. I scanned the rugged , steep mountainous , savage terrain to the south where we were to fly our grid at a mere few hundred feet coaxing the drag ridden contraption up steep hills and plunging down towards azure half frozen lakes or savage rushing torrents of blue/green runoff all the while trying to keep the two trailing missiles clear of the ground.

I had just returned my attention to the cockpit when at the same time Eric pointed and screamed "DIVE" and with heart stopping disbelief a Cessna 185 missed us by merely fifty feet or less.

He too , was saved by a mere particle of time. Here , in the big empty sky of the arctic we came within feet of losing our lives.

More to follow .............
_________________

[Bon Giorno]

Duke - Yer a bloody legend mate.

And I reckon for every one who actually posts wishing you well, there are another 10 lurking and dwelling on your every word.

I often wonder how close our pathes may have passed, fom Oz to the Fraser Valley where I probably got in your way tooling around in some lightie out of Pitt Meadows or Abbotsford.

Hopefully not as close as the Cessna mentioned above though.

Blue skies and following winds mate.

Bon Giorno

[Chuck Ellsworth]

Hey Pigboat :

The Duke used to follow me around so he could have sex with my left overs.

Before he met me he had no class at all.

Cat.

[pigboat]

Can't wait to see what the Duke has to say about that. :D

[Chuck Ellsworth]

Me too. :O

What ever it is it should be good knowing the Duke. :ok:

Chuck

[BeauMan]

Just spent the last hour reading through this thread. With a few breaks while I blink a few times to get the moisture out of my eyes. My lunch still sits in front of me, untouched.

This thread is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most moving thing I have ever read. I have no idea how or why I've not seen it before.

Duke, I have no idea who you are, but you are an inspiration to us all. Keep fighting Sir, you have many, many friends worldwide who have never met you, but who are cheering you on.

[Duke Elegant]

G'Day everyone.

I have just spent the last week with my two daughters here at home .
My youngest is out from Montreal and my oldest is from Vancouver Island and she came over without the grandkids and we had a special time together. My wife went to visit her grandkids so thank you all for being patient as I owe two endings to two tales.

Duke E

[RampTramp]

Duke,

I've been following the thread and found it totally absorbing, not to mention moving. You've survived this long, hang in there, fella, and don't let this one beat you!

RT

[Duke Elegant]

From the air , our camp , consisting of five tents and an outhouse adorned with the tradional half moon peephole , looked rather inviting as it was perched high on a bank overlooking a river , a green rushing glacial torrent still carving away at its winter mantle of ice that often tore off large chunks that revealed an icy beautiful blue tinge therein.

The snow was mostly gone except for large patches in the shade of the hills where a few caribou would lay in the heat of the day. While still waiting for the nod from HQ to start flying , we were often entertained by a mother fox on the other side of the river who taught her young to catch rodents and she tossed them into the air as they playfully romped in the snow.

A lone wolf , shabilly shedding his winter coat , visited dailly , keeping his distance as did we. Walking was difficult on the rocky tundra and frustrating too as the misplaced rocks rolled underfoot and we quickly named them the devil's marbles. Dailly we were warmed by the low arctic sun but often a piercing icy wind had us holed up in the tents that trembled and the diesel stove moaned in protest.

We waited and we wandered about. ... waiting for the puzzle palace in Ottawa to make up their minds as to which settings to use on our equipment. We ate well and slept and read until it was time to eat again. We understood , however , that the decisions being made in Ottawa were of the utmost importance ... it was diamonds we were looking for ..... we waited. The conditions were ripe for sinking morale , probably the biggest danger in a situation such as this with months to go .

One day , Jerzy , Eric and I wandered down to the huge junk pile left over from the cold war days when this was an advanced radar site hooked directly to Cheyenne Mountain. The junk pile would be as big as a football field and comprised discarded building supplies , office chairs , windows , doors all damaged somewhat. Electrical transformers , wiring , spools , searchlights , a junkies dream. We burrowed our way to the middle and declared that this was to be the site of the Baffin Island Yacht Club and we marked our trail out and scurried out to the aircraft to retrieve our hidden booty of vodka and rum.

We were busy for days as we made a floor from pallets , a skylight from searchlight lenses , a bar made from a huge electrical panel and in electrical tape , a sign "members Only". We took turns at being the Comodore and the honour of sitting in the only chair we had. We could see out to all points of the compass but the entrance was impossible to find. Over the bar there was a huge guage that read Full/Empty ... we had no idea what it was for but we laughed till we dropped foaming from the mouth , fortified with the evil drink.

The All terrain vehicles buzzed about but our whereabouts remained a mystery to the camp members. We slowly conducted interviews based on trust and our membership swelled to five. Morale was at a peak when the word came down to fly which we did with renewed enthusiam. We owed Jerzy for life because you must remember that the operators had been stripped of their flying incentive pay and we replaced that incentive with companionship and vodka.

Eric and I were both new Captains but he had a lot more time survey flying than I and it showed. We would compete in a friendly fashion but his accuracy was remarkable. The high morale translated into very accurate data even though we flew two trips per day of four hours each as we alternated Captains seats. We dragged that contraption up steep escarpments , allowing of course for the two trailing birds on their respective cables, and then we would plunge down towards the azure lakes and brown meadows dotted with caribou.

The call from the operator "End of the line" would far too often occur half way up a steep hill or in the face of an icy cliff where we had to execute a timed , co-ordinated tear drop turn to intercept the next line a mere two hundred metres over. This had to be done within fifty metres but we strived for ten metres. Skill , patience , a good lookout , pre planning , cunning , trust in your crew ... all had to be orchestrated for every turn ... never a cross word ... never any whining.

At the end of the day , when the data was downloaded by the processors we could see our track , every turn , every deviation from altitude and general accuracy. We were proud , and , after supper , we would retire to the Yacht Club.

Our engineer did very well to keep the aircraft in good trim considering the dusty conditions and the refuelling from barrells that the huge engines emptied by the dozens dailly. HQ was stunned as to the rapidity with which we pounded off the kilometres and soon more fuel was to be flown in on a chartered Hawker 748 , a true workhorse in the North and flown by some of the best and most professional crews in aviation.

It arrived on a day when we were timed out anyway and its arrival on that dusty , gusty strip was an event in itself. Bouyed by high spirits we played "hop the barrells" as they came hurtling down the barrell ramp

Up and down the line we flew. Day after day.

And so it was on the barrens.

We flew the contract in half the time predicted by the puzzle palace in Ottawa and we were rewarded handsomely down south in Yellowknife later on.

I must say that the lessons learned were profound. Once egos are set aside and that effort is put into morale it embraces the notion that we are all in this together. So a mission that was turned down by other crews became quite an adventure for a lucky band of brothers.

[Maxflyer]

Duke. Are you there?

[FJJP]

Duke,

I have followed your thread out of interest and particularly the courage you have shown throughout your recent illness (I haven't posted on your thread before now...)

Now it's personal, and I can emphasise with you personally and totally - I have just been diagnosed with Myeloma and have begun treatment. I hope I can sustain myself through this difficult time with the same fortitude and courage you have shown over the past years... you are certainly high on my list of people I would aspire to follow, although my flying career has been throroughly tame compared with yours!

Best wishes for your future - FJJP

[KnifeEdge]

Duke

What can I say - I have just finished reading this whole thread and its absolutely brilliant!

I decided to register there and then to be able to post this message.

Your stories remind me of why I decided to get into this flying game in the first place and why we all put up with everything that goes with it - Its for the shear love of it.

Keep on living the dream Duke and good luck

KE

:ok: :ok: :ok:

[brockenspectre]

Just checking the thread and a little concerned at nothing from dear Duke who I have never met and alas fear will never meet ... I sit at my puter this evening with a small candle lit, chiefly to the memory of my mother (who I miss sorely despite her passing nearly three years) and .. wish to share this candle-light and memories with all aviation types who are in need of friendly thoughts tonight for whatever reason...

Dear Duke hope you are as well as can be expected and I look forward to the next story!! You MUST GET PUBLISHED!!! sorry for shouting but really .... your tales are so wonderful and of a flying era that is gone by that they need to be preserved in print for those of us who have to fly in "Nanny State" conditions!! :ok:

luv Brocky

[pigboat]

Brocky, I've just been informed that the Duke is doing ok. Hopefully he'll be back sometime soon. :ok:

[BeauMan]

What a relief to hear that. Hope to see the Duke back on here soon. :)

[DEOne]

What an amazing human being. It's been a long time since I cried.

[pigboat]

Couple of pics of Duke's lobster bomber here (www.avcanada.ca/albums/thumbnails.php?album=1) taken by the guy who was tossing the lobsters out.
Sure is a lot of oil in a Wright 1820. :ooh:

[tinpis]

Duke in summer flying kit with Invader (http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/displayimage.php?album=7&pos=1)

:p

[seagull2200]

(I tried to mail this in 'private' mode, but the ILS for the mail seems to be goosed - so to all who read, you have my most sincere promise that it is not my intention to 'insult', by mentioning in this mail, what i believe.)

Hey Duke,

It's just a quickie from your 29 yr old, 20hr Cessna flying Brit Vicar! - Well, not really a Vicar actually.
I hope you don't mind, i've been working far too many hours on security trying to make things happen financially, and so have had to face hours of boredom, and i printed-off all your tales of, as you say, 'Daring Do' to keep me busy - and by the heck they do!
Just to put you at ease, you have my promise that i will not in any way publish or spread these stories, i will discard once read if you would prefer..
Anyhow, cutting to the chase, one of your stories was about an Aztec which went down nr Papua - seven lost, you heard the screams on the HF whilst in the C182, do you recall...?

Well, it's my vision to become an MAF Pilot someday, and so i read as much as poss about other Christians who have been used by God in Aviation. About 4 yrs ago, I was reading a book called 'In To The Glory' by Jamie Buckingham, it's quite old (1950/60s) - i found it in a dusty old basement library, in a Christian Mansion, here in England. This book has a special meaning to me, and should you be not put off with a bit of 'God Talk', i'd be happy to share with you - it's a really wierd story, in a nice way.

Anyhow, the book accounts what i believe is the same occurance you reference in your story.. A Christian mechanic got called away to assist a collegue whilst servicing the Aztec engine (Number 2 engine if my memory serves me right), and had only finger-tightened the fuel line; he had found the cowling back on when he returned and for some reason had pressumed the fuel line nut had been tightened.
The book states that the pilot worked wonders to lose about 6'000ft in less than 2mins, had lined up for a dissused airfield, but on finals the main spar went, and they cartwheeled in. The aircraft was operating as part of JAARS at the time, the 'Jungle Aviation and Radio Service' - the air arm of the Wycliffe Bible translators - they're still around today - sorry, don't mean to make you feel old..

It was just so weird to be reading your account of this occurance, written by yourself, a Pilot who was in the air at the same time, all those years ago. If you get the chance, try and get the book - It's a corker - full of interesting accounts and stories which i know, after reading your stories, you would love.
Obviously, i stand in awe at your experience - both in aviation and life. My thoughts are with you as you persevere in your battle against cancer. You have no doubt, over the years and through life experiences, formed your own personal beliefs in respect of God etc etc... With the multitudes from all nationalities you have encountered in your life, one would expect a diverse appreciation of many religeons, belief systems and the like - especaily boxes of flipping Lobsters!! :-)

But Duke, i wanted again to bring back to you the very simple, very powerful account of the only 'man' who ever lived and died, simply, and only for the sake of all of us. The cross is known throughout the world, it's message is undeniable - the recent film 'The Passion of Christ' is a good (and historicaly accurate) visualisation of what God, in the body of a human, decided to put himself through, so the price would be paid for us. This, so that when our time comes to meet God, we have our issues paid for by Christ on the cross, because we asked for him, and accepted his sacrifice as payment for our shortcomings.
Yes, yes, i know you've heard it all before, but would this change it from being all true, if infact the story and promises of Christ was indeed all true?

You see, i'm no DC3 Pilot, infact at the moment, I'm no pilot at all, but i have completed many Christian and Non- Christian courses on both the Bible, Biblical Archeology and World Religeons, as well as having many many friends from different faiths.
Duke, your present situation really concerns me, i told you this the last time i mailed you, that i do not know how i would fair going through what your going through...
But, to put it into flying terms, imagine you were flying that C182 again, and the weather came in on you over Papua, if offered the choice, would you take option A or B?


A: Turn into a heavily clouded valley where you have been 'told' there are a couple of safe landing strips - but non of which you have seen, nor have you been able find much clear literature to read about for yourself, neither have you met anybody who ever survived after landing at one of these strips. There is no clear written details of the approaches, it's all very vague - some think that the strips are nice, some think that one or two of these strips have a nasty F27 commander waiting to speak to you about some certain 'un-cleared' flights you have undertaken in your life, and would want to ground you! Some say you have to work hard to get into some of the strips, but you may have to take off again if you didn't do well enough first time round.
Non of them provide a 'promise' of safety once you have committed to land there, and nobody is quite sure what awaits after you shut down, although many seem 'convinced' by their own opinions.

OR....


B: Turn into another valley, where there is not as much confusing 'cloud' - things are definately a little clearer in this valley. There is a landing strip in this valley which loads of other pilots know of; you have read about the approach, because there is lots of literature, maps and guidance on how to get in. The strip also has a glide slope, dedicated Air Traffic Control who are there purely to help endagered aviators such as yourself to get down safetly.
You know LOTS of people who know of a guy who landed there once, came out the other side, and said it was wonderfull beyond description AND said that waiting for you is the best banquet you ever dreamed of and a family of people, led by the strip Controller, who are there simply to love and welcome you home, and celebrate with you, your safe arrival. The only thing is, you have to follow the Controllers directions on how to get in, even if his directions seem to contradict your better judgement at times - He knows his airstrip better than you do.



I wonder, which option would you go for?
Duke, i am not yet a pilot, i will read your stories of aviation - they teach me a great deal. But Duke, i am a theology graduate, and what i have just written above is the difference between the promise of Christ through the Bible, and all other world religions and faith systems - like you would say to a nervous first officer Duke, i am saying to you...'Trust me, it's TRUE'.
I hope i have given you some scope for thought.
My very best, and as ever, my prayers.
You know, as a final little point, most think that the likes of 'St Paul, and 'St John' etc.. from the Bible, where born singing hymns!!

Duke, you come across as a very experienced and colourful guy - did you know that in the Bible, Jesus gave 'St James' and 'St John' a nickname? -Yes, he called them 'Boanerges' which means 'Sons Of Thunder'!!
...when you go back to the original Greek writing of the text, It was literally a nickname, because when you get past all the 'religiosity' and 'holy-clap trap' rubbish which the major established Christian church around the world places on both the Bible and Biblical charachters, these charachters ALL had some VERY 'interesting' sides to their personalities - James and John where in their times the equivalent to our present day deep-sea fishermen - not the most tactful of people! - and JESUS PERSONALY CHOSE THEM!!!!!

God has very a distinct like of 'colourful' charachters you know Duke - i type this smiling... :-)
I pray you will find some joy and meaning in amongst the great suffering you are enduring, - like the joy you (and I) received from the bagpipes being played by the child at the air show, a couple of mails ago, -Amazing Grace i seem to recall..... please try to remember and consider the words to that Hymn.
Yours,
A friend who truly cares

[the wizard of auz]

I thought the aircraft was a turbo baron.
where ya at Duke?. how are ya battling with the demon?.
we all miss ya mate.

[chimbu warrior]

'Twas actually a turbo-charged Aztec.................read Duke's earlier post about agreeing to buy it.

[the wizard of auz]

I stand corrected. to many brain cells have sucumbed to the devil drink. :O

[tinpis]

Yes a turbo Aztruck,he nearly made it into Nadzab.
The turbo Baron had its wing blown off in Talair Goroka hangar after faulty wiring ignited fuel. The ginger-beer(kiwi Doug "Duck"?) laying under it at the time required surgery to unpucker his freckle.



:ugh:

[brockenspectre]

Hiya Duke "howzit?" as my S African colleagues say - no word from you so hope things aren't too grim or nauseating ... I just posted a new thread in JetBlast about the possiblity of blue moons over N America as a result of the Mt St Helens burp .. have to say I think it would be fun to see a blue moon! Also .. having heard about a place called Chilliwack through your writings (I probably would never have heard of it otherwise) I went to the local tourism website and today in the mail received a brochure - must say it looks a totally charming area (but then it IS a tourist brochure) hehehe

OKies hope if you don't get to read proon someone passes on my chitchat to ya!

:ok:

[Maxflyer]

Just received a message from PIGBOAT with some great news. Check out this Canadian Aviation Forum

Duke's Post (http://www.avcanada.ca/forums2/view...p?p=35195#35195)

[tinpis]

Unfortunately the Aviation Canada forum appears to have closed up shop.

[John Eacott]

Tinpis,

Are you sure? This link, http://www.avcanada.ca/forums2/viewforum.php?f=28 , still seems to work.

[Pom Pax]

I think you are looking for
http://www.avcanada.ca/forums2/viewtopic.php?t=3910

Duke Elegant
Rank 3
Joined: 16 Feb 2004
Posts: 112
Location: Chilliwack BC

Posted: Thu Oct 14, 2004 1:22 pm Post subject:
Busted.

Hi everyone ....Iam hangin' in and as soon as I am back up a few pounds , I'll write ... I promise.
_________________
For me , VNE is not a limitation , it's a goal

[Duke Elegant]

This was posted ove at flightinfo.com

To Duke Elegant.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've read your stories and I envision a gray haired man with a weathered face, each crease having a tale to tell, sitting by a fire with a whiskey in hand. It's been said that "no one here gets out alive". True it is but not all have touched the lives as you have, sir.
I can't shake your hand, so I will just say thank you.
__________________
By and large, language is a tool for concealing the truth. G Carlin
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX





Here is what I said.

Close , Daveman , close.

I\'m trying to get comfy as we speak.

I now have a hospital bed in my living room , in front of the TV and close by the fire place.

I am on a memory foam pad (developed by NASA I believe) because I am down to 108 pounds now and have become rather skeletal. I also have an oxygen machine that goes 24/7 but I only use it half the time.
My darling beautiful wife has learned to operate the intraveinous machine for my daily saline .

The morphine right now manages the pain but it tries to fu#k with my mind so I had better write something before I start talkin garbage.

I am hoping to have a friend type for me when I get set up with a laptop for the bed so ..........I am not done yet.

I have some spiritual stuff to share.

[SawThe Light]

Duke,

Thanks for the sitrep.

There's been lots of us waiting and wondering how you are doing. What can we say, keep giving it your best shot mate and hang in there. We haven't forgotten you.


STL

[LowNSlow]

Duke,

Glad you are home with your family. Keep up the fight and keep posting, there are a lot of people waiting to hear from you on this forum as well as others. :ok: :ok:

[Duke Elegant]

I'll tell you why I am one of the luckiest guys on earth.


I am now down to a skeletal 105 pounds now and I am on an oxygen tube most of the time..

And my wife STILL offers to cuddle up to me in bed .... even though it hurts my bones , it warms my heart.

[PPRuNe Pop]

Duke,

Your spirits are high and you have someone who loves you. Enjoy.

Good luck to you.

PPP

[LowNSlow]

She loves you Duke, against aaaalllllll the odds, she loves ya :ok: :ok:

[Mr_Grubby]

Duke.

Hang on in there mate.

My thoughts are with you.


Clint.
Surrey
England.

[FJJP]

Duke, as a recently-joined member of the Big 'C' club, I can testify to the support of the ones you love being a source of strength. Hang in there, my friend - my thoughts are with you daily...

FJJP

[tinpis]

Duke mate I came across this web page the other day.
Please enjoy it Im sure it will jolt you back 30 odd years to our time in Madang as it did me with lots of lads and lassies you will no doubt remember.
You will live forever mate and remember when it came to flying , boozing , bull****tin' or lovin' nobody could hold a candle to us guys back then .
I reckon God gonna give us good guys a Cessna 185 and a DC3 to zoom around the valleys and clouds all day.


TPNG 69-73 (http://www.pngaa.net/Photo_Gallery/Grays_Aviation_PNG/grays_aviation_index.htm)
Right click on the image and click"save image as " to get the picture caption.

[autosync]

Just want to fall into line behind what everyone else is saying about a truly great human.

I have been a regular reader for the last several months, but never posted, because I just thought I would be stating the obvious.

Duke, I tip my cap to you, you are an inspiration on how a life should be led.

[tffy]

Just ran into this thread about... well, yesterday. It prompted me to register so I could thank you for writing all this down. Wishing you all the best, Duke!

[Maxflyer]

Found these on the net and thought others might like to see the grand ol' duke at his finest.

Some Pics of Duke (http://www.avcanada.ca/albums/displayimage.php?album=lastupby&cat=0&pos=2)

[brockenspectre]

Maxflyer unfortunately that link brings up a site with a "no pic to display" message ... can you post the url maybe?

Hope you are hanging in there OK Duke and that despite everything you are able to raise a glass of something appropriate during this festive season! Rest assured I will be doing so on your behalf and because I need practice :E I will be doing so a lot :ok:

luv brocky

[Chimbu chuckles]

Brokenspectre click on albums list and look under General Aviation Photos and Historic Aircraft...lots of Duke in each section...lots of other great piccies too actually. Bloody hell Duke looked 17 when he was flying the Avenger!

[Dusty_B]

I'm pretty sure a link to the BBC News website's "Tumor Diary" series has already been posted. However, the latest couple have been real hard hitters; Today, a profound observation is made. As with this thread, it can be at times quite a tear jerker.

Tumor Diary - Dad would Swap (http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4100807.stm)

BBC News science and technology writer Ivan Noble was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumour in August 2002. Since then he has been sharing his experiences in an online diary.

[brockenspectre]

ChimbuChuckles thanks for that - I thought I had written my thank you umpteen days ago but just popping in to the thread see that I didn't!! Stunning pics!! Thank you!!!

;)

Hope y'all have a wonderful Christmas 2004 ... I always seem to be raising glasses (any excuse eh?) but will be doing so on the 25th :ok: :D

[Maxflyer]

Duke if you're still reading this thread I would like to wish you a happy christmas.

[trustno1]

Thank you for sharing all your memories with us. I sincerly pray that you and your family have a happy and peaceful Christmas.

[Readability5]

Have fantastic Xmas Duke. I hope Santa's kind and that you have a peaceful, enjoyable and pain free start to 2005.

R5.

[Chaffers]

Will be raising a golden throat charmer to you this new year Duke. :ok:

[PPRuNe Pop]

Duke.

From me and from PPRuNe we wish you a very Happy Christmas and good New Year.

Btw, please PM me your address and let me send you a PPRuNe badge - a small token that we can call a 'Friendship Pin.'

Hang on to the love which surrounds you.

God bless.

[CR2]

Ah, Pop beat me to it.

Duke, I've been following this thread for many months now, truely inspiring.

I wish you all the very best for Christmas & the New Year. As so many have said, "hang in there mate".

[Sawmill Broad]

Well, Sawmill Broad is not really my name!!! But that is what the Duke tagged me with some 25 years ago as a joke! It stuck. It’s endearing. He is the only person to ever get away with calling me a broad!

I have been to see Duke often the last while and he asked if I would post a note to all. He is in a considerable amount of pain and due to the pain meds and sleeping aids is usually in a fog when he isn’t in too much pain. He has lost so much weight now that he must barely be 90 lbs I would guess. It’s hard for him to eat; he just doesn’t have the capacity any longer. The nausea takes over and he can’t even talk or listen to others talk about food at all. He is on oxygen now and also requires an IV for hydration. He has good days and bad and it seems the good days are getting fewer. When he does have a good day it only lasts a few hours at best. While the cancer has ravaged his body, it cannot touch his mind or his soul. I am trying to be as honest as I can here because that’s who he is, and that’s what he wants me to tell you.

Duke’s doctor – bless his soul – comes to the house to see him at least every couple of days to re-set the IV as his veins keep collapsing. He even came over on Christmas day in between church and dinner just to check on Duke!

Duke’s wife is pretty awesome and looks after him like she had been a nurse all her life. The home care nurses taught her how to look after the home IV system and she’s a natural. There is no way he could get better care anywhere else but home. Duke’s a lucky guy.

Both of his daughters were out visiting just recently and I know they had a wonderful visit with their Dad. I know it meant a lot to him too to be able to spend quality time together with them.

He loves to write and has so many stories to tell, and I truly wish he had the time to capture them all on paper. He is extremely frustrated with the muddle the morphine leaves his mind with. He will get at least one or more story out – I know because he talks about the subject with a sparkle in his eye!

So stay tuned, pray for pain relief, and a few more good days for Duke. I’m sure you will be rewarded with yet another tale woven as splendidly as only he can weave. He really enjoys reading your comments as much as any artist who loves his audience!

[PPRuNe Pop]

By God I am a lucky man!

I feel that after reading Sawmill Broad's words - thank you for saying them. Indeed, how can anyone not feel that when reading about an aviator of Duke's stature. stricken as he is with the "Big C" - as the other Duke (John Wayne) called it.

What can we do? Nothing, except let you know Duke that we are thinking of you and hopefully giving you a little smile and comfort from so many of us who, like you, love aeroplanes and flying. A band of brothers perhaps.

God bless you sir, you are inspiration to us all.

[BeauMan]

Duke, there have been times in the past few months when - I am ashamed to admit - I didn't think you'd see 2005. Looks like I was wrong, and I'm absolutely delighted to be so!

Tonight, as midnight chimes here in London, I shall raise a glass to you sir, and wish you a Happy New Year. I suspect I shall not be alone in doing that.

[brockenspectre]

Happy New Year All!!! hope you have all managed to raise a glass or two to this bright new year - wx in SE London today is bright but chill so is perfect for dog-walking. Hound and I were out in a wooded park this morning and I am advised that the smells were on top form! :ok:

Prayers and thoughts with you Duke but I guess you know that! :ok:

luv brocky

[Sawmill Broad]

Happy 60th Birthday Duke! You have reached yet another milestone!

Your friend,
Sawmill Broad

[Former Freight Dog]

Hi Duke! Happy Birthday and Happy New Year!

I have followed this forum since you first told me about it, but this is the first time I have actually submitted a post. Teri and I really enjoyed our visit in May with you and Kathy. It was great catch up on things and share a few pints. I’m sorry to hear you’re not doing as well as when last I saw you. Even though the “Big C” has you firmly in its sights, your attitude and strength during this ordeal is nothing short of a huge inspiration.

Like I have told you, (and everyone on this forum has told you) you make one heck of an author! You always had that particular flare for telling stories, especially (as I remember) over a few pints 'o' Grog in the presence of persons of the gentler persuasion, but I never imagined that reading them would bring them so vividly to life. I have many fond memories of the days you and I crewed DIK and DOG under, at times, not so ideal conditions. Whether it was droning for hours on end up and down the west coast of BC with a load of Pine mushrooms or Crab (remember the sound those little buggers made in their totes? All we could hear was a faint “click, click, click. . . “ as we closed the cockpit door before blasting off into the deep, dark night. Creepy!) I’m still kinda curious, though, as to why your leg on the pine mushroom contracts was always the pristine, clear return trip to Terrace over some of the most breathtaking scenery in British Columbia and my leg was usually the 03:30, IFR leg in pitch black. Rank has its privileges, I guess. ;-) Your tale of the Bomber moon instantly whisked me back to that night. I remember how bloody big our aircraft’s shadow looked skimming across the cloud scape as we cruised at what seemed like just feet above the under cast. Cool man! Or enduring the trials and tribulations of Bronson Creek as the under equipped under-dogs. I would have to say that that was one of the most character building eras of my career. Having to reverse-engineer a DC-3 brake assembly out in the blowing snow as our, in your words, Puss-eyed mutant engineer loudly drank himself into oblivion yet again. Us in the frigid cold and he sitting by the fireplace in the Chalet bragging about how he sewered us. We sure showed him what cunning and perseverance can accomplish. I still remember the image of Cowboy Jim emerging from the swirling snow to give us a hand. What a gentleman! We both learned a lot about team work and overcoming both physical and mental barriers. Although it was tough, looking back on it all, I had a flippin’ ball! Thank you as well for taking the time to tutor me as to the correct amount of water and ice for a really great glass of Scotch. Cheers, mate!

I would like to submit a request to all the others out there who know or who have cross paths with Duke to submit their favorite tale involving him. I would like to think of this as a tribute to one who has shared so much of himself with all of us over the last while and maybe because I know he really doesn’t mind hearing others talk about him. Because I suggested it, I will start things off with some of my memories spent in the presence of The Duke.

I believe it was after we had returned from a crab trip and the Duke and I were feeling a little thirsty. After securing the aircraft for the night and a quick wash to remove some of the smell of work, we headed to The Waddling Dog pub for some refreshment and, as we were both single at the time, perhaps a little female companionship. We wandered in and strategically placed ourselves at the best table available and surveyed our surroundings. We were quite pleased with the “selection”. We chatted about the trip we had just completed and were enjoying our beer when Duke got that look a cat gets when it sees something that triggers its hunting instinct. “Sorry, Mate” he says to me, “you’re on your own.” With this he gets up, walks past me and as he places his drink on a table behind me I hear him say to the fine lady seated there, “Hello, my names Duke. How do you like me so far?” It worked! Present position direct to the final approach fix after only 15 to 20 minutes! What a legend!

Then there was the time I flew my first leg in the left seat of the 3. Duke and I had just dropped of our three bags of gold ore in Wrangell and as there was nothing to haul back we were, on this very rare occasion, headed back to the mine empty. Duke had been talking about up-grading me to Captain for a bit, however I had not yet passed the required exams needed to obtain my Airline Transport License, a requirement here in Canada for anyone want to sit as Pilot in Command of any aircraft requiring two pilots. We took off and completed the necessary checks before settling in to the half hour trip back to the mine. “Hey Rob,” Duke said, “if we’re empty, this would be considered a non-revenue flight, right?”. “Technically, yes.” I responded, not getting why this was important and not understanding the mischievous look on his face. “Good!” he said as he unbuckled his harness. “You take the left seat then!” I didn’t wait to see if he’d suggest it again. We quickly switched places and I settled into the “proper” seat of the airplane. After an uneventful flight and near perfect landing (I guess I was really paying attention) we taxied in and shut down to see the owner of our little operation stareing at the two faces with the proverbial s**t eating grins in the wind shield. Duke for having pulled off yet anther one (the look on Mike’s face was priceless.) and me for having taken the command seat of my first large airplane!

My hat is off to you, Duke. I’m sure I am not the only one who can say that many a fond story will be told about you, your adventures and, adventures shared with you for years to come. Thank you for all I have learned and seen as your co-joe and captain trainee during those days not so long ago.

With much sincerity;
Rob M.

[Maxflyer]

Duke,

I took my two and a half year old son for his flight with me on Wednesday last ( in a humble PA28). As I was driving home from the airfield I thought that I would print off all the exploits that you have penned here on PPRuNe and save them for him to read when he is that bit older.

I hope it will inspire him to become a pilot (if that is his wish) but furthermore, I hope it will show him what being a man really is about these days.

Many thanks and a happy new year.

[LowNSlow]

Duke,

Glad to hear that you made it to 2005, you are truly an inspiration. I'm sure that I speak for all on Pprune when I say that I'm looking forward to the next installment of The Life and Times of Duke Elegant with bated breath.

Good luck and a Happy New Year

Low

[brockenspectre]

I ought to be sleeping as I have work in a few hours but ... can't get to sleep so ... thoughts turned to friends and stuff so hope you are doing OK Duke ... and however you are doing, know that its OK to cuss at Creator :ok: I can only speak for self but I stand with you in your trial .. I am only a proon friend but if it is any comfort, please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers :ok:

[FJJP]

As another day dawns in the UK, I count my own blessings. God be with you, my friend...

FJJP

[FJJP]

Can anybody give us an update on how the Duke is getting on? It's been a while now...

FJJP

[brockenspectre]

Hi Duke ... FJJP just said what I have been wondering too ... how are you doing mate? It probably seems a little insensitive to be demanding news, but you do have rather a lot of friends scattered far and wide across the globe who are wishing you every energy and painfree moment ... I would give you a hug but that probably would hurt too much... so accept a virtual one OK?? {{{{{Duke}}}}} :ok:

[Sawmill Broad]

Duke is hanging in there but he's very weak and in a lot of pain. Prayers are good at this time.
Sawmill

[brockenspectre]

Thanks for the update SawmillBroad - glad Duke is hanging in there but sad that it is so painful.

You are in my thoughts and prayers Duke.

luv brockie

[M. I. Icarus?]

Dear Duke,

One wants to express how deeply touched one is with the stories you have shared with us and your current plight. Inspite of never having had the honour to meet you, I feel strangely connected to such a flyer and bon vivant pur sang.
A sentence coined by my father that has inspired me throughout many years, through ups and downs, comes to mind, and I would like to share with you, albeit in thought.

To fly, to soar, to leave the lawn in longish leaps.

And long leaps you have taken. Keep enjoying that soaring feeling.

O.

[Sawmill Broad]

Yesterday, Les was surrounded by his wife Kathy, daughter Anna and Tim, my husband Keith and I, and Les’s very good friend Terry. His daughter Meghan was in Ottawa and spoke to him several times on the phone.

He had already gently slipped into a coma earlier in the day and while asleep was never alone. We talked about Les’ life, how we all came to know him and had a few chuckles. I’m sure he knew we were all there with him. Kathy’s friend Patsy came by and sang a few hymns a capella, one being Amazing Grace. It was just so beautiful and so peaceful.

Les quietly left at 11:15pm with his daughter cradling his head. We are thankful that he is no longer in pain and we will miss him dearly.

Blue skies Duke Elegant, you are a cherished friend.

[chimbu warrior]

I never met Duke.............but feel like I knew him as a friend.

A man obviously blessed with a sense of adventure, a love of fun and a warmth toward all human beings. His inspired prose in the foregoing pages detailed a desire to leave this world at peace with all mankind, and content with the life he had led.

How many of us with leave this world with that same sense of contentment?

Fly high Duke, for there are countless thousands of aviators in this world who have had their lives enriched by your accounts of heaven on earth, and I am sure that there are many of them raising glasses to you.