Unusual aviation jobs.
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Whitehorse Yukon Canada
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It seems that most wierd cargos were flown in New Guinea.
We flew somes calves from Goroka to Karimui in a C182. They had three legs immobilised with a twisted fanbelt which worked well. Of course one had to get used to the pong when they crapped. The fun,though, was when we released them into the frantic natives that had never seen a bulla-ma-kow. I think we treed about fifty or so. Never laughed so hard since the rats ate the ex-wife.
Probably the most weird was in the Aztec, Bravo Papa Woof, when I was "contracted" to fly 800 lbs in eight boxes from the Solomons to an abandoned strip on Cape York. The clients preferred that the authorities not be
advised as to my whereabouts. I insisted that I at least know what the cargo was as I was averse to drug smuggling.....although it was rumoured that I had flown a load of sleeping mutts into Oz.
A very elaborate plan was hatched when I found out that the cargo was chook eggs.
The plan was nearly exposed by a jealous hostie who caught me rooting her worst enemy.
Now, why would it pay to smuggle chook eggs into Australia? Especially since the point of origon was the USA.
Why was it illegal to do so? It had a lot to do with quarantine laws.
Secret fuel caches, low level flying in crappy wx and a cunningly engineered flight plan.
The number three chook processer became the number one processer......give it some thought...........
We flew somes calves from Goroka to Karimui in a C182. They had three legs immobilised with a twisted fanbelt which worked well. Of course one had to get used to the pong when they crapped. The fun,though, was when we released them into the frantic natives that had never seen a bulla-ma-kow. I think we treed about fifty or so. Never laughed so hard since the rats ate the ex-wife.
Probably the most weird was in the Aztec, Bravo Papa Woof, when I was "contracted" to fly 800 lbs in eight boxes from the Solomons to an abandoned strip on Cape York. The clients preferred that the authorities not be
advised as to my whereabouts. I insisted that I at least know what the cargo was as I was averse to drug smuggling.....although it was rumoured that I had flown a load of sleeping mutts into Oz.
A very elaborate plan was hatched when I found out that the cargo was chook eggs.
The plan was nearly exposed by a jealous hostie who caught me rooting her worst enemy.
Now, why would it pay to smuggle chook eggs into Australia? Especially since the point of origon was the USA.
Why was it illegal to do so? It had a lot to do with quarantine laws.
Secret fuel caches, low level flying in crappy wx and a cunningly engineered flight plan.
The number three chook processer became the number one processer......give it some thought...........
Since this appears to have morphed into unusual flights/jobs, I've been more than lucky enough to have a few to share:
GCA in cr@ppy Cornish summer weather, full IMC with a torpedo on the hook underneath
Similar GCA, after 4 hours dunking, livened up when we came to the hover and followed the G/S backwards. Took a minute or two for the controller to sort that out
All the talk of coffin flights, the next step in life/death is scattering the ashes. From bitter experience, make sure that the grieving relatives leave the aircraft from the side other than that which has a greyish tinge all the way to the tail rotor.
Fun trips:
filming a tail chase at zot feet in and out of the 12 Apostles
filming a Ferrari down Latrobe street at 50 feet
trip in a Brazilian Navy Sea King down the coast from Ipanema (sp?) Beach, not above 50 feet
Boring flights out to offshore rigs in Nigeria, livened up when we found that a low fast approach on canoeists would get their attention such that as they paddled faster to get out of the way, eventually they would lean so far over that they capsised. After a week of this, eventually one bright lad worked out that if he sat still with the paddle sticking straight up, we'd avoid flying into it. On the return trip, the jungle drums were so efficient that every canoe along an 80 mile stretch of coast had got the message!!
Similar pains in Nigeria were the return loads from the rig, where every bag was filled to capacity, often tipping the weight over gross. Didn't take much sleuthing to discover that the price of fish (5 Naira/kilo) in the local market dictated the cargo load.
And lots more
GCA in cr@ppy Cornish summer weather, full IMC with a torpedo on the hook underneath
Similar GCA, after 4 hours dunking, livened up when we came to the hover and followed the G/S backwards. Took a minute or two for the controller to sort that out
All the talk of coffin flights, the next step in life/death is scattering the ashes. From bitter experience, make sure that the grieving relatives leave the aircraft from the side other than that which has a greyish tinge all the way to the tail rotor.
Fun trips:
filming a tail chase at zot feet in and out of the 12 Apostles
filming a Ferrari down Latrobe street at 50 feet
trip in a Brazilian Navy Sea King down the coast from Ipanema (sp?) Beach, not above 50 feet
Boring flights out to offshore rigs in Nigeria, livened up when we found that a low fast approach on canoeists would get their attention such that as they paddled faster to get out of the way, eventually they would lean so far over that they capsised. After a week of this, eventually one bright lad worked out that if he sat still with the paddle sticking straight up, we'd avoid flying into it. On the return trip, the jungle drums were so efficient that every canoe along an 80 mile stretch of coast had got the message!!
Similar pains in Nigeria were the return loads from the rig, where every bag was filled to capacity, often tipping the weight over gross. Didn't take much sleuthing to discover that the price of fish (5 Naira/kilo) in the local market dictated the cargo load.
And lots more
Join Date: Sep 2000
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Hi.
The quickest way to becoming a hangar slave is to fly to VRD from DN way back, with about enough KFC to feed a lot of hungry helo boys, arriving there and finding the chooks still in the car in the DN airport carpark.
Other strange ones.....
Cleaning bosses pool, car, hangar, Istalling carpet, painting, Repairing a fleet of wall mounted airconditioners , bla bla bla
The quickest way to becoming a hangar slave is to fly to VRD from DN way back, with about enough KFC to feed a lot of hungry helo boys, arriving there and finding the chooks still in the car in the DN airport carpark.
Other strange ones.....
Cleaning bosses pool, car, hangar, Istalling carpet, painting, Repairing a fleet of wall mounted airconditioners , bla bla bla
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On a more elegant, if somewhat less exciting, note... Years ago the then DCA had a thing about carrying a weapon when carting "wild animals". One operator with which I was associated regularly carried lots and lots and lots of oysters. When the CP was challenged by his DCA examiner about this dreadful breach of regulations (ie no .38) he responded along the (drawling) lines of "I think that a plate and fork .. and a bottle of sauce.. will be more than adequate with which to defend ourselves" ... he was a most lovely gentleman.
My only recollection of an animal's being dispatched in flight in Oz was a horse on an Electra following its doing itself a significant series of mischiefs. In the absence of a firearm, the crash axe was the weapon of choice to put the injured animal out of its pain. Thereafter we carried a .38. No-one ever bothered to practise any range drills with it so I have no idea what would have happened had it ever been needed in anger..... The oysters were by far the more elegant situation....
My only recollection of an animal's being dispatched in flight in Oz was a horse on an Electra following its doing itself a significant series of mischiefs. In the absence of a firearm, the crash axe was the weapon of choice to put the injured animal out of its pain. Thereafter we carried a .38. No-one ever bothered to practise any range drills with it so I have no idea what would have happened had it ever been needed in anger..... The oysters were by far the more elegant situation....
Moderator
Years ago helping out some local yachties looking to salvage some mahogany that had been washed off a ship near the Channel Islands. Trouble was most of it drifted towards Sark, which is prohibited airspace. Sorry, yachties! Sark locals were happy though! 
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Once upon a time i had the opportunity to become a "god"... but i blew it. Picture a less than 5 minute sector deep in the hills of PNG (Car-bum to Shat-wag for those that have). Half way through, the light outside the perspex goes a little strange- a kind of eerie greeny-blue half light. Existing in a blur of scary car trips, short runways, tall green mountains and the standard alcoholic haze- i haven't a clue as to why. Remove the (since retired!) Tom Cruise r*y b*ns to check for the good old "rapid descent in the tropics" condensation- not the easiest of feats from under the david clarks with those horrible head-ache producing glasses with the curly arms. None present, so i figure the 100kg boar, that is strapped to bamboo on the floor in the back and producing noise equal to the two 300hp lycomings, must be affecting my brain with its super stench. So before i can further distract myself and chance a close encounter with something solid, i flick switches and pull levers in preparation for arrival at Shatwag... where i am greeted by the whole village complete with "elders in @rse grass". Now you usually get lots of locals and excited kids at these places but this lot were quite as church mice, and one representative approaches me and asks "captain, can you fix the sun?" in a really sh*t-scared voice. Now there was my chance for some fun and possibly attaining god-like status by "bringing back the sun", but i had kind of forgotten about it- having been busy with landing on the side of a mountain and getting safely out of the acft before passing out from Mr Piggy's BO. I looked around and it finally dawned on me that it was a partial eclipse giving that weird half light. So did i hold them to ransom for their ten most beautiful women? Did i extort their best coffee beans or their largest cassava?
Nah, told 'em it would be fine in a minute and to "get that bl**dy pig out of my acft!"...
Nah, told 'em it would be fine in a minute and to "get that bl**dy pig out of my acft!"...
Join Date: Jun 2001
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Herc Jerk - Have done Car-bum to Shatwag myself more times than I care to count. Never got an eclipse but sure as hell had to contend with wild pigs (biped and quadroped).
Funny how just the night before a few well timed SPs made them all look so enticing down at the Rock Ape.
A bit mystified as to why you'd even try to take 23 out of Kanabea. I know you can squeeze that many lik lik man na meri into an Islander, but why try at KEX? Always left light and made them wait personally!
Beer always tasted better with my head still attached.
Funny how just the night before a few well timed SPs made them all look so enticing down at the Rock Ape.
A bit mystified as to why you'd even try to take 23 out of Kanabea. I know you can squeeze that many lik lik man na meri into an Islander, but why try at KEX? Always left light and made them wait personally!
Beer always tasted better with my head still attached.
Join Date: Oct 2000
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Right you are, and please excuse my fuzzy memory. Head through the gap to the east and you will find another K, this time KIANTEBA where it is difficult not to get airborn- rather than making a sharp turn.
And if you like the truth to get in the way of a good story- that day i was the "School Bus" and as such probably didn't come within a hundered kgs of max... but then, with a roiling sea of wantok kiddies in the back- seat belts were anyones guess...
And if you like the truth to get in the way of a good story- that day i was the "School Bus" and as such probably didn't come within a hundered kgs of max... but then, with a roiling sea of wantok kiddies in the back- seat belts were anyones guess...
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Flying a Cessna Caravan full of 44 GAL drums of diesel from Port Hedland to Fracey Field so they could power their plutonium plant because the roads had been cut off due to rain. You had to be there.........
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As F/O on Bristol freighters carried
* A small elephant from Melbourne to Launceston.
* Two prize stud bulls from Adelaide to Sydney. The two bulls were valued at many times the value of the B170.
* A small elephant from Melbourne to Launceston.
* Two prize stud bulls from Adelaide to Sydney. The two bulls were valued at many times the value of the B170.
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slick gravy
Contrary to popular belief, I, too, suffered the horrors of a time in GA.
The boss, a borderline psychotic who suffered from manic-depression and piles, told me he had 'a job' for me. He was smiling which meant it was probably illegal in some small way.
A drilling team in the middle of the outback needed a new drill bit and the boss wanted me to "drop it off" to them in a C210. We went into the pilots' briefing room which also happened, of course, to be the smallest room in the building after the boss's office, secretary's office, Op.s Manager's office, tea-room, toilet and broom closet. I looked up the co-ords of this place on the usual faded collection of faded WAC charts (like when I use my PIN Number at an ATM Machine Machine).
The catch was there was no runway so I would have to wrap the drill bit in rags and bubble mat, place it inside one of those small eskies, tie a "streamer" (his idea) made of hessian potato sacks tied together and push it out the window to them.
I hid my glee at being instructed to carry out this sort of anarchy and tried to focus on the smell of cash and the joy of eating again after the job.
There was no time to brief properly or examine the aircraft to determine the best way to deliver the package. I would have to rely upon my intensive instruction and training at the aero club
and I tried to focus on this on the way to the "drop-zone" but all I could come up with was foggy Dr. Nick Riviera-type memories of booze and poon.
Feeling that a clean exit was the best option, I approached the drop zone as fast as the C210 could go with the window open and the esky balanced on the window ledge. I could see these guys all standing in the middle of the "drop-zone", waving their arms so I knew I was in the right place. At about 300', I used my recently calibrated Eyeball and the correct procedures, as instructed, to carefully calculate all the variables, taking into account wind, height, speed, mass, drag, season, coriolis, moon-phase, and which ball was currently hanging lower, to arrive at the decision to drop the package.........NOW.
I thought about pushing the esky and it disappeared. It didn't just fall out the window, it vanished. Job done, I banked around to observe the impact (I had no illusions about my boss's
"streamer" bullsh!t) and mentally superimposed an image of
a 500Kg Snake-eye scoring a direct hit on a VC weapons cache along with spectacular concussion ring and expanding welter of gore and disassembled commies. It was fun.
I couldn't see the esky so I descended down to tree-top height to have a bit more fun before returning to check out the damage. On my first pass, I could see the guys still waving their arms and also jumping up and down excitedly. I must have hit the spot dead-on. I had plenty of juice and liked the reaction so I hauled it around for another pass, this time even lower. As I flew over the guys were going nuts and I thought I heard them yelling as I flew past. While I was thinking how funny and cool I was giving them the royal wave at prop height, I noticed they were pointing at me.
I climbed a little and looked back at them, wondering what the ****? That's when I noticed the hession sacks draped over the tail-plane.
Hooz ya daddy...
Next week: The day we flew every aircraft in the fleet
"in formation" for a TV ad.
The boss, a borderline psychotic who suffered from manic-depression and piles, told me he had 'a job' for me. He was smiling which meant it was probably illegal in some small way.
A drilling team in the middle of the outback needed a new drill bit and the boss wanted me to "drop it off" to them in a C210. We went into the pilots' briefing room which also happened, of course, to be the smallest room in the building after the boss's office, secretary's office, Op.s Manager's office, tea-room, toilet and broom closet. I looked up the co-ords of this place on the usual faded collection of faded WAC charts (like when I use my PIN Number at an ATM Machine Machine).
The catch was there was no runway so I would have to wrap the drill bit in rags and bubble mat, place it inside one of those small eskies, tie a "streamer" (his idea) made of hessian potato sacks tied together and push it out the window to them.
I hid my glee at being instructed to carry out this sort of anarchy and tried to focus on the smell of cash and the joy of eating again after the job.
There was no time to brief properly or examine the aircraft to determine the best way to deliver the package. I would have to rely upon my intensive instruction and training at the aero club
and I tried to focus on this on the way to the "drop-zone" but all I could come up with was foggy Dr. Nick Riviera-type memories of booze and poon.
Feeling that a clean exit was the best option, I approached the drop zone as fast as the C210 could go with the window open and the esky balanced on the window ledge. I could see these guys all standing in the middle of the "drop-zone", waving their arms so I knew I was in the right place. At about 300', I used my recently calibrated Eyeball and the correct procedures, as instructed, to carefully calculate all the variables, taking into account wind, height, speed, mass, drag, season, coriolis, moon-phase, and which ball was currently hanging lower, to arrive at the decision to drop the package.........NOW.
I thought about pushing the esky and it disappeared. It didn't just fall out the window, it vanished. Job done, I banked around to observe the impact (I had no illusions about my boss's
"streamer" bullsh!t) and mentally superimposed an image of
a 500Kg Snake-eye scoring a direct hit on a VC weapons cache along with spectacular concussion ring and expanding welter of gore and disassembled commies. It was fun.
I couldn't see the esky so I descended down to tree-top height to have a bit more fun before returning to check out the damage. On my first pass, I could see the guys still waving their arms and also jumping up and down excitedly. I must have hit the spot dead-on. I had plenty of juice and liked the reaction so I hauled it around for another pass, this time even lower. As I flew over the guys were going nuts and I thought I heard them yelling as I flew past. While I was thinking how funny and cool I was giving them the royal wave at prop height, I noticed they were pointing at me.
I climbed a little and looked back at them, wondering what the ****? That's when I noticed the hession sacks draped over the tail-plane.
Hooz ya daddy...
Next week: The day we flew every aircraft in the fleet
"in formation" for a TV ad.
Worst flight ever was with a stretchered national suffering advanced gangrene in a leg injury, which was unimaginably putrid. The poor bugga was delerious and had 2 medical bois sitting on top of him, and they bravely continued this restraint once in the 185 too.
When I caught the first whiff, some quick thinking and unfastened the LH window of the old c185 so it rode up to the wing. Then waited till he was loaded in...ran for the 185 taking a bloody deep breath...into the drivers seat...fastest startup in history...onto the strip at Rabaraba...off in a bloody flash with head out the window...and kept it there for the several minutes it took to get to the Mission hospital at Wedau.....shutdown at 40kts....out of the seat and disembarked so fast I was able to join the welcoming party!!
A very very hardened missionary Sista walked up....took a whifff...and said to me...YOU WERE MEANT TO PICK THIS LOT UP YESTERDAY - NO WONDER HE'S RIPE!! That was it for me....off to the baret for an inspection of the local weeds!
Florence Nightingale must have been blessed with no sense of smell!!
cheers
When I caught the first whiff, some quick thinking and unfastened the LH window of the old c185 so it rode up to the wing. Then waited till he was loaded in...ran for the 185 taking a bloody deep breath...into the drivers seat...fastest startup in history...onto the strip at Rabaraba...off in a bloody flash with head out the window...and kept it there for the several minutes it took to get to the Mission hospital at Wedau.....shutdown at 40kts....out of the seat and disembarked so fast I was able to join the welcoming party!!
A very very hardened missionary Sista walked up....took a whifff...and said to me...YOU WERE MEANT TO PICK THIS LOT UP YESTERDAY - NO WONDER HE'S RIPE!! That was it for me....off to the baret for an inspection of the local weeds!
Florence Nightingale must have been blessed with no sense of smell!!
cheers
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Took a Caribou out to Coober Pedy to participate in a film shoot.
The German Director/Writer of the film had specifically requested a Caribou and wrote it into his film about the dreamtime and mining and land rights and such.
Film was TERRIBLE but Co-pilot and I got to star in the film, and had to perform a takeoff that was to look as if was done by an inebriated indigenous person. After three takes with the camera crew on the side of the strip, we got the signal to taxi back for next take. By the time we turned around to line up they had moved the camera to the MIDDLE of the strip and were giving us the go signal.
Luckily the dirt strip was pretty wide, so with a shrug we gave it a go... subsequent shot was the one they used in the movie. It looked great but was totally unauthorised.
The German Director/Writer of the film had specifically requested a Caribou and wrote it into his film about the dreamtime and mining and land rights and such.
Film was TERRIBLE but Co-pilot and I got to star in the film, and had to perform a takeoff that was to look as if was done by an inebriated indigenous person. After three takes with the camera crew on the side of the strip, we got the signal to taxi back for next take. By the time we turned around to line up they had moved the camera to the MIDDLE of the strip and were giving us the go signal.
Luckily the dirt strip was pretty wide, so with a shrug we gave it a go... subsequent shot was the one they used in the movie. It looked great but was totally unauthorised.
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don't answer the phone.
Sitting on Forbes aerodrome at Christmas killing time waiting for the damn inversion to break to do some gliding but it needed about 40 deg C. It was very hot and still. The aerorome phone wouldn't stop ringing at lunchtime so after about an hour and a half I answered it. On the other end was a guy asking if a long parcel was sitting outside the front of the hangar and could I have a look as they hadn't heard from the charter operator. A question as to how the parcel got there elicited the reply they had dropped it off in the morning but no one was around. A short walk around the corner found the parcel there some 6 hours later and about 45 degrees warmer and now lying cooking in the sun. Something about the shape seemed familiar so I couldn't resist asking what it was.
The reply was that they were the local undertakers and needed to know if the BODY had been picked up as they hadn't heard from the charter operator. This was quickly followed by a request to put it in the shade!
My even quicker reply was they knew what they could do with the now very hot body they would find sitting in the sun on the tarmac.
Syd
The reply was that they were the local undertakers and needed to know if the BODY had been picked up as they hadn't heard from the charter operator. This was quickly followed by a request to put it in the shade!
My even quicker reply was they knew what they could do with the now very hot body they would find sitting in the sun on the tarmac.
Syd