Tales of An Old Aviator .... The Big Chill
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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.
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.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
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.
Last edited by Duke Elegant; 9th Apr 2004 at 20:45.
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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
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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!
.
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!
.
Last edited by Duke Elegant; 10th Apr 2004 at 05:47.
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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!!!!!!)
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!!!!!!)
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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
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
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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.
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.
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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
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
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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.
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.
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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...ker%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...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
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...ker%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...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