Fw: A PLEA FOR HELP FROM A GROUNDED AUSTRALIAN TO HIS FRIEND

[windymiller7]

G'day Blue,


I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody pilot's

license back. You keep telling me you got all the right contacts. Well

now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate, I'm

bloody desperate. But first, I'd better tell you what happened during my

last flight review with the CAA examiner.



On the phone, Ron (that's the CAA knucklehead) seemed a reasonable sort

of bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review

every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my

property, and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to

that.



Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a bit

surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside my homestead because

the ALA (Authorized Landing Area) is about a mile away. I explained that

because this strip was so close to the homestead it was more convenient

than the ALA, and despite the power lines that cross about midway down

the strip it's really not a problem to land and take-off because at the

half-way point down the strip you're usually still on the ground.



For some reason Ron seemed nervous. So although I had done the

pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all

over again. Because Ron was watching me carefully, I walked around the

plane three times instead of my usual two.



My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned to Ron's

cheeks. In fact, they were a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously

better mood, I told him that I was going to combine the test with some

farm work as I had to deliver three poddy calves from the home paddock

to the main herd.



After a bit of a chase I finally caught the calves and chucked 'em into

the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed aboard but Ron started

getting on to me about weight and balance calculations and all that

crap. Of course I knew that thing was a waste of time because calves

like to move around a bit, particularly when they see themselves 500

feet off the ground. So it's bloody pointless trying to secure them as

you know. However, I did tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always

keep the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure that we remain pretty

stable at all stages throughout the flight.



Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time by

tramping hard on the brakes and gunned her to 2,500 rpm. I then

discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing a

bloody headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and

demanded that I account for it. Actually it began about a month ago and

was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and

lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved now

but it doesn't matter because it's jammed on "All Tanks" so I suppose

that's OK. However, as Ron was obviously a real nit-picker, I blamed

the noise on a vibration from a steel thermos flask which I keep in a

beaut possie between the windshield and the magnetic compass. My

explanation seemed to relax Ron because he slumped back in the seat and

kept looking up at the cockpit roof.



I released the brakes to taxi out but unfortunately the plane gave a

leap and spun to the right. "Hell", I thought, "not the starboard chock

again". The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked wildly

around just in time to see a rock thrown by the propwash disappear

completely through the windscreen of his brand new Commodore.



While Ron was ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that we

taxi to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines. Ron didn't

say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing right at the

lift off point, then he bloody screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh

God! Oh God!"



"Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly. "That often happens after

take-off and there is a good reason for it." I explained patiently that

I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I accidentally

put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the low octane of

the kerosene I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS and shook the

wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine has

been coughing a bit but in general it works just fine if you know how to

coax it properly. Anyway, at this stage, Ron seemed to lose all interest

in my flight test. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and

became lost in prayer. I selected some nice music on the HF radio to

help him relax.



Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 10,500 feet. I

don't normally put in a flight plan or get the weather because, as you

know getting fax access out here is a friggin joke and the bloody

weather is always 8/8 blue anyway. But since I had that near miss with a

Saab 340 I might have to change my thinking on that.



Anyhow, on levelling out I noticed some wild camels heading into my

improved pasture. I hate bloody camels and always carry a loaded .303

clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see any of the

bastards. We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I

decided to have a go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the

bloody rifle out the effect on Ron was friggin' electric. As I fired the

first shot his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged

like a rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he had been jabbed with

an electric cattle prod on full power. In fact, Ron's reaction was so

distracting that I lost concentration for a second and the next shot

went straight through the port tyre.



Ron was a bit upset about the shooting (probably one of those pinko

animal lovers I guess) so I decided not to tell him about our little

problem with the tyre.



Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my fighter

pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence,

I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a sideslip from 10,500

feet down to 500 feet and 130 knots indicated (the last time I looked

anyway) and the little needle rushing up the red area on me ASI. What a

buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I looked back in the

cabin to see the calves suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy. I

was going to comment on this unusual sight but Ron looked a bit green

and had rolled himself into the foetal position and was screamin' his

freaking head off.



Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should have been there, it

was so bloody funny.



At about 500 feet I attempted to level out. For some reason we continued

sinking.



When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but nothing happened; no

noise, no nothin. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me

head saying "carby heat, carby heat". So I pulled carby heat on and that

helped quite a lot, with the engine finally regaining full power. Whew,

that was really close, let me tell you.



Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have it,

at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the cattle

and suddenly went Instrument bloody flying, mate. You would've been

bloody proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a

mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is

repaired. (Something I've been meaning to do for a while now.)



Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth

opened wide, very wide, but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told

him. "We'll be out of this in a minute." Sure enough, about a minute

later we emerge; still straight and level and still at 50 feet.

Admittedly, I was surprised to notice that we were upside down and I

kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten

to set the QNH when we were taxiing". This minor tribulation forced me

to fly to a nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get

upright again.



By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip

between them. "Ah!," I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right

there."



Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple

of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was blaring

so loud in me ear that I cut it's circuit breaker to shut it up, but by

then I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply into a 75 foot

final and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had always

thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I

was proved wrong again.



Halfway through our third loop Ron at last recovered his sense of

humour. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't

stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves, who bolted

out of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow. I then began picking

clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits of laughter, Ron asked

what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff the port tyre with

grass so we could fly back to the homestead. It was then that Ron really

lost the plot and started running away from the aircraft. Can you

believe it? The last time I saw him he was off into the distance, arms

flailing in the air and still shrieking with laughter. I later heard

that he had been confined to a psychiatric institution- -poor bugger.



Anyhow, mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is, I just got a

letter from CASA withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to fly;

until I have undergone a complete pilot training course again and

undertaken another flight proficiency test. Now I admit that I made a

mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and not setting the QNH using

strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did that was so bloody bad

that they have to withdraw me flamin' license. Can you?

[Whirlybird]

:D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D

[DX Wombat]

Priceless! Absolutely priceless! :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D
The real worry is that after having had the privilege of taking part in the RFDS Outback Air Safari in 2003 and met some wonderful people in the Outback, I can actually imagine it happening :uhoh:

[Fuji Abound]

Fair dinkums Windy - I dont see what his problem was :D :D :D .

Those poms need to get out a bit more.

[DubTrub]

That's funny, Windy, because I had a similar situation recently. Here's my response to the CAA:




Civil Aviation Authority
Gatwick

Dear Sir,

I was asked to make a written statement concerning certain events that occurred yesterday. First of all, I would like to thank that very nice CAA man who took my student pilot's license and told me I wouldn't need it any more. I guess that means that you're giving me my full-fledged pilot's license. You should watch that fellow though, after I told him all of this he seemed quite nervous and his hand was shaking. Anyway, here is what happened.

The weather had been kind of bad since last week, when I soloed. But on the day in question I was not about to let low cloud and visibility, and a slight freezing drizzle, deter me from another exciting experience at the controls of an aeroplane. I was fairly proud of my accomplishment, and I had invited my neighbour to go with me since I planned to fly to a town about two hundred miles away where I knew of an excellent restaurant that served absolutely wonderful steaks and the greatest martinis.

On the way to the airport my neighbour was a little concerned about the weather but I assured him once again about the steaks and martinis that we would soon be enjoying and he seemed much happier.

When we arrived at the airport the freezing drizzle had stopped, as I already knew from my ground school meteorology it would. There were only a few snow flakes. I checked the weather and I was assured that it was solid IFR. I was delighted. But when I talked to the local operator I found out that my regular aeroplane, a Piper J-4 Cub, was down for repairs. You could imagine my disappointment. Just then a friendly, intelligent line boy suggested that I take another aeroplane, which I immediately saw was very sleek and looked much easier to fly. I think that he called it a Aztec C, also made by Piper. It didn't have a tail wheel, but I didn't say anything because I was in a hurry. Oh yes, it had a spare engine for some reason.

We climbed in and I began looking for an ignition switch. Now, I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but it shouldn't be necessary to get the aircraft manual just to find out how to start an aeroplane. That's ridiculous. I never saw so many dials and needles and knobs, handles and switches. As we both know, confidentially, they have simplified this in the J-4 Cub. I forgot to mention that I did file a flight plan, and those people were so nice. When I told them I was flying an Aztec they said it was all right to go direct via Victor-435, a local superhighway, all the way. These fellows deserve a lot of credit. They told me a lot of other things too, but everybody has problems with red tape.

The take-off was one of my best and I carefully left the ATZ just the way the book style says it should be done. The tower operator told me to contact Departure Control Radar but that seemed kind of silly since I knew where I was going. There must have been some kind of emergency because, all of a sudden, a lot of airline pilots began yelling at the same time and made such a racket that I just turned off the radio. You'd think that those professionals would be better trained. Anyway, I climbed up into a few little flat clouds, cumulus type, at three hundred feet, but Highway 435 was right under me and, since I knew it was straight east to the town where we were going to have drinks and dinner, I just went on up into the solid overcast. After all, it was snowing so hard by now that it was a waste of time to watch the ground. This was a bad thing to do, I realised. My neighbour undoubtedly wanted to see the scenery, especially the mountains all around us, but everybody has to be disappointed sometime and we pilots have to make the best of it, don't we?

It was pretty smooth flying and, except for the ice that seemed to be forming here and there, especially on the windscreen, there wasn't much to see. I will say that I handled the controls quite easily for a pilot with only six hours. My computer and pencils fell out of my shirt pocket once in a while but these phenomenon sometime occur I am told. I don't expect you to believe this, but my pocket watch was standing straight up on its chain. That was pretty funny and asked my neighbour to look but he just kept staring ahead with sort of a glassy look in his eyes and I figured that he was afraid of height like all non-pilots are. By the way, something was wrong with the altimeter, it kept winding and unwinding all the time.

Finally, I decided we had flown about long enough to be where we were going, since I had worked it out on the computer. I am a whiz at that computer, but something must have gone wrong with it since when I came down to look for the airport there wasn't anything there except mountains. These weather people sure had been wrong, too. It was real marginal conditions with a ceiling of about one hundred feet. You just can't trust anybody in this business except yourself, right? Why, there were even thunderstorms going on with occasional bolt of lightning. I decided that my neighbour should see how beautiful it was and the way it seemed to turn that fog all yellow, but I guess he was asleep, having overcome his fear of heights, and I didn't want to wake him up. Anyway, just then an emergency occurred because the engine quit. It really didn't worry me since I had just read the manual and I knew right where the other ignition switch was. I just fired up the other engine and we kept right on going. This business of having two engines is really a safety factor. If one quits the other is right there ready to go. Maybe all aeroplanes should have two engines. You might look into this.

As pilot in command, I take my responsibilities very seriously. It was apparent that I would have to go down lower and keep a sharp eye in such bad weather. I was glad my neighbour was asleep because it was pretty dark under the clouds and if it hadn't been for the lightning flashes it would have been hard to navigate. Also, it was hard to read road signs through the ice on the windshield. Several cars ran off the road when we passed and you can sure see what they mean about flying being a lot safer than driving.

To make a long story short, I finally spotted an airport that I knew right away was pretty close to town and, since we were already late for cocktails and dinner, I decided to land there. It was an Air Force Base so I knew it had plenty of runway and I could already see a lot of coloured lights flashing in the control tower so I knew that we were welcome. Somebody had told me that you could always talk to these military people on the international emergency frequency so I tried it but you wouldn't believe the language that I heard. These people ought to be straightened out by somebody and I would like to complain, as a taxpayer. Evidently there were expecting somebody to come in and land because they kept talking about some god damn stupid son-of-a-***** up in that fog. I wanted to be helpful so I landed on the ramp to be out of the way in case that other fellow needed the runway. A lot of people came running out waving at us. It was pretty evident that they had never seen an Aztec C before. One fellow, some General with a pretty nasty temper, was real mad about something. I tried to explain to him in a reasonable manner that I didn't think the tower operator should be swearing at that guy up there, but his face was so red that I think he must have a drinking problem.

Well, that's about all. I caught a bus back home because the weather really got bad, but my neighbour stayed at the hospital there. He can't make a statement yet because he's still not awake. Poor fellow, he must have the flu, or something.

Let me know if you need anything else, and please send my new license soonest.

Yours sincerely,


Old, I know, but still a good 'un.