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

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

Old 7th Feb 2004, 14:39
  #21 (permalink)  


Sims Fly Virtually
 
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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 )

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

Exxy
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Old 8th Feb 2004, 00:46
  #22 (permalink)  
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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 hangar 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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Old 9th Feb 2004, 01:44
  #23 (permalink)  
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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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Last edited by Duke Elegant; 9th Feb 2004 at 02:01.
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Old 9th Feb 2004, 04:30
  #24 (permalink)  
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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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Old 9th Feb 2004, 04:51
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Excellent thread. Thanks
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Old 9th Feb 2004, 05:30
  #26 (permalink)  
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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.
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Old 9th Feb 2004, 18:41
  #27 (permalink)  
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Talking

Back to the top.
Good luck with the fight, Duke.
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Old 10th Feb 2004, 13:09
  #28 (permalink)  
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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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Old 11th Feb 2004, 08:58
  #29 (permalink)  
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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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Old 11th Feb 2004, 17:46
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Top class warries! Good luck mate.
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Old 12th Feb 2004, 03:52
  #31 (permalink)  
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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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Old 12th Feb 2004, 09:52
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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!
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La seule place où le succès vient avant le travail, c'est dans le dictionnaire.

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Old 12th Feb 2004, 10:12
  #33 (permalink)  
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Ha ha spudguns

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

Hmmm..me wonders if Treefrog remembers that...???
 
Old 15th Feb 2004, 09:10
  #34 (permalink)  
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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/conten...3/Page%201.jpg
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Old 16th Feb 2004, 12:55
  #35 (permalink)  
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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.
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Old 27th Feb 2004, 02:45
  #36 (permalink)  
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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....
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Old 27th Feb 2004, 11:31
  #37 (permalink)  
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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 .............

Last edited by Duke Elegant; 7th Apr 2004 at 02:01.
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Old 28th Feb 2004, 07:09
  #38 (permalink)  

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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.
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Old 1st Mar 2004, 08:02
  #39 (permalink)  
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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.
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Old 1st Mar 2004, 13:22
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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 is offline  

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