The four bladed Ryan and the short field landing
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The four bladed Ryan and the short field landing
This story by Tony Fisher is an absolute classic. It was from 24 years ago so most current Ppruners would not have seen it before. Published in AOPA magazine May 1995.
My Mustang by Tony Fisher
My love affair with a P51 when I was approached by a non-ferrous metal dealer from Taren Point just south of Sydney. He knew I had a private pilot’s licence and asked if I was interested in buying an aeroplane he had obtained by tender to melt down for pots and pans. The name P51 didn’t mean a great deal at the time other than it was some sort of RAAF fighter.
My first aeroplane was a Fairchild Argus which I bought shortly after Sammy Dodd gave me my private pilot’s licence. I took my wife Helen to look at my pride and joy. She took one look and claimed, “you needn’t think I’m getting into that thing. That’s the old paper plane from Moree. My father went to Sydney once in that and said he could have got there quicker on a push bike”. That’s what you get for marrying a nurse from Moree.When the non-ferrous dealer mentioned the P51’s 400mph cruise I thought of Helen’s father on a push bike. I was sold
. The price having been agreed upon, $600, my next step was to find a way of getting it out of Sydney and down to Canarney, 5000 acres at Jerilderie.A mate of mine Chris Braun, who had flown P51’s in the RAAF, was now flying for Butler Air Transport. I asked if he would fly the P51 down to Canarney. He was all in favour but DCA not only wanted a new 100 hourly but where was it going and what was to happen when it got there? It was decided it was to be part of a museum at Jerilderie. While these negotiations were in progress I located another aeroplane at Tocumwal, A68-193, an air reconnaissance Mustang for $700. Not saying a word to Helen, I bought that too. It was now time for me to get a conversion as this was not possible at the time, due to prejudice against ex-service aircraft. I decided to obtain one while in the United States.
My partner in Southern Cross Farms in Florida, Lane Ward, found a doctor in Merced, California who owned a P51, and a US Colonel, who were prepared to lend me an aeroplane and teach me to fly it. There was a stipulation that prior to take off I was to write a cheque for the full value of the aeroplane, because if I bent it – I owned it. When the Colonel found out I only had 200 hours and most of that in a Fairchild Argus and a G Bonanza, he thought it prudent that I obtained some time in a heavier aircraft such as a T6.Next day, the Colonel and I started circuits and landings in a T6. He was not all that impressed with my early attempts. Say boy, watch that turn, don’t do that in the 51 or your wife is going to end up owning the aeroplane”. This went on for two days and by the end of it I was sorry I’d ever heard of a P51. Finally the hour arrived when I was due to fly the Mustang. “Now watch that right rudder, keep on top of it, don’t let the torque get away or you’ll knock that guy right out of the tower”.He asked if the pedals were adjusted correctly. I could reach them but didn’t realize they moved a foot – not like the Argus only six inches. After the minute instructions re ram air etc, the Merlin roared to life and I taxied down toward the threshold. “04 Papa ready,” I croaked. My voice sounded strange even to me. My throat was so dry.
Finally it came. “04 Papa cleared for take off, make left turn, remain in the circuit area”.I pushed the throttle forward 30, 40, 50, 60 inches Manifold Pressure. The noise of the Merlin was deafening. I could just make out the guy in the tower. Somehow I had a feeling he was just as frightened as I was. With the power came the torque and more and more rudder to keep the monster racing off to the left towards the tower. I sank lower and lower into the cockpit. Lane later said I could have sworn to God there was no-one in the aeroplane as it took off.”Airborne, I reached for the gear lever and retracted the wheels. The P51 was heading for the skies like the homesick angel it was. Two thousand feet per minute and indicating 200 knots. At 1,000ft I eased back on the throttle to 30 inches and noticing what looked like a 182 Cessna ahead, decided to follow it onto final. Suddenly the Cessna seemed to be attacking me backwards at 200 miles an hour.The landing wasn’t anything to brag about but everyone seemed pleased to see me and the aeroplane back in one piece. I reclaimed my cheque and we all went home to celebrate.
NO 2Max Annear and his mate Sid, two ex-RAAF Mustang mechanics, were checking out and ferrying A68-193 for its ferry flight to Canarney homestead, Jerilderie. When they were satisfied it was ready, Max rang me and Joe Palmer and I flew down to Tocumwal in the red Ryan.There was the Mustang sitting on the tarmac ticking over like a sowing machine. Max must have seen the anxiety on my face. “Tony, are you sure you can fly one of these things?” “You’ve got to be kidding” I said trying to sound confident. “I was taught by the pride of the Yankee Air Force”. I failed to mention my total time on type was ten minutes.It was drizzling with rain as I lined up and there was a sense of déjà vu. There was no tower and the pedals had been adjusted. The canopy clicked shut. I gave them a wave, lined up and opened the taps.Hurtling down the strip I was about to ease back on the stick when there was a loud BANG, then another BANG BANG. The Colonel had said nothing about anything like this. I pulled off the power and applied full brakes. We were fast running out of strip. I left the runway and was now heading for the fence. “God, this is where I make Fisher’s gate. I hope the traffic on the highway gives me the right of way, to which I’m entitled.”The Mustang stopped ten feet from the posts but the Rolls Royce engine was still purring.
I taxied back to Max. “What’s wrong now?” I could hear the disdain in his voice. “I tell you Max, it made a loud bang. It seems to have stopped, - perhaps it was some carby ice”. He was not impressed. “I don’t know, but please check it out”. I was glad to be back in the Ryan on the way back to Jerilderie. I wondered about what it would be like with some mad Jap in a Zero firing six cannons at you and the RR Merlin backfiring as well.Several days later Chris Braun rang up and said he had permission to ferry Mustang A68-104 down to Jerilderie. Fisher’s Airforce was beginning to take shape.About this time, Helen received a letter from my son Robby’s school inviting her up for a chat. We’re a little concerned about Rob. He has this wild imagination even for a five year old. He keeps saying his father owns two fighter aeroplanes, three seventy foot boats (names Vim, Derwent Hunter and Helsal), 500,000 acres in the Northern Territory and four cars including a Rolls and a Caddy”. I could never resist a bargain. “But it’s all true,” poor Helen tried to explain. She was dismayed when she overheard the headmistress say “God, the whole family must be off. Imagine what the father must be like”.From then on I would cross the road anytime I had to pass the school.
It was Australia Day when we had the Carnarney Cup – a private, but everyone welcome air pageant. Max had found that one of the diaphragms in the Merlin had perished, but he had located a guy who had a new Merlin in his garage which he had bought at a disposal auction.He wanted five pounds to change carburetors. Max also required an additional $80 for four drums of avgas (800 litres). Things were somewhat cheaper then.That year we had 100 guests. Those we couldn’t put in the homestead were sleeping in the woolshed and under wings etc. There were 33 aeroplanes that year. Johnny Ault and I got up at 5am, jumped in the Ryan and flew down to Tocumwal where Max was waiting with 193 all fuelled and ready to go. I jumped in, taxied to the runway, switched to ram air, completed the cockpit check and opened the tap. Roaring down the runway I had a great view of where I nearly made Fisher’s Gate. Pulling back on the stick she soared sweetly into the air. Climbing to 3000 ft I levelled off, set the revs at 2000 and the boost at about 30 inches and set the nose for Canarney.
About fifteen minutes later I could just make out the homestead on the Billabong River. The temptation was too great. I lowered the nose, increased the revs to 2500 and boost to 50 inches. The airspeed indicator began to climb well above 300 knots. At about 100 ft I leveled off and passed right over the homestead. Then pulling back on the stick I climbed away at 3000 fpm. Looking back, it was like treading on an ant’s nest. There were bodies coming out of everywhere, mostly in pyjamas and all wondering what all the noise was about.
NO 3 A SHORT LANDING IN A P51My uncle, Bob Macintosh, supervised both Canarney and a property called Concord, 3000 acres of the Cunnineuk Estate just north of Swan Hill. It took him six hours to commute between the properties. Although 25 years my senior, we were great mates and enjoyed one another’s company.He bred and loved race horses, but hated aeroplanes. I hated race horses, but after my mother’s death I had invested half of her estate into the two properties. When things were quiet on Canarney I would often jump into one of the Mustangs and within 20 minutes would be buzzing the Concordhomestead. On one occasion there was a gentle breeze of about five knots coming from the west. There was no one home so I decided to return to Canarney via Cadell which was Edgar Pickle’s place. I flew over the homestead and could see Edgar on the verandah. There was no windsock, the airstrip was only 2000 ft long, and one way from the boundary to his front verandah, east to west. Taking a long final I set myself up in the precautionary attitude and came in low over the boundary fence.After a few seconds and almost half the strip gone, I realized I was doing a downwind landing. I was committed.
I noticed that Edgar had vacated the verandah and was now behind a tree. “God,” I prayed. “here’s where I knock Pickle’s place right into the Wakool River”. Pulling back on the stick and left rudder I attempted to ground loop it to the left, but the brute headed straight for his house. I sheer desperation I applied full right rudder. Round she went in a great cloud of dust coming to rest not far from the fence and the entrance from the main road. A passing motorist seeing the dust and commotion drove straight in and up to the aeroplane, just as I was winding back the canopy.
“Are you all right, mate?”
“Course I’m alright,” I claimed not wishing to emphasise my predicament.
“I thought you’d crashed”.
“No way, that was a normal precautionary short landing”.
“oh yeah” he sounded a bit skeptical. What sort of aeroplane is that?”
“A four bladed Ryan,” I lied. After all he could have been Arthur Doubleday’s (Director of Civil Aviation) brother
.“How fast will it go?”
“400 knots”.
“What’s it worth?”
“800 dollars”.
“I’m learning to fly next year. I was going to buy a Cessna, but now I’ve seen one up close I think I’ll buy a Ryan”.
Pickles was still behind the tree and refused to enter into the conversation until after the prospective Ryan buyer had left.
“Fisher, if you insist in arriving in this manner, I must respectfully request that you change your mode of transport”.We inspected the aircraft taking particular notice of its undercarriage. Edgar gave it a clean bill of health so we retired for a well earned cup of tea.The P51 gave us a lot of enjoyment. They were at Canarney for about six years. One was sold to a fellow by the name of Don Busch and the other to a furniture salesman called Bob Eastgate. Busch unfortunately killed himself due I believe a C of G problem in a steep climbing turn. The other is occasionally flown in Victoria, but not, I’m told by its owner.I have the greatest admiration for this aeroplane which is far more forgiving than many believe. However, my greatest admiration goes to the pilots who flew them in the medium for which they were designed – combat.
While at Jerilderie the aircraft were kept in top mechanical condition by trained RAAF servicemen from Tocumwal. During these six years, we had no airframe or engine failure whatsoever, which speaks volumes for the aircraft reliability. They were housed in a specially constructed hangar, not a barn as has been claimed by the uninformed.They were flown by many pilots including Chris Braun, Joe Palmer, Bill Pike, John Lidner, Charlie Smith, Johnny Ault, Les Barnes and Edgar Pickles. We were all cavalier in many attitudes to life, but never to our aeroplanes.
My Mustang by Tony Fisher
My love affair with a P51 when I was approached by a non-ferrous metal dealer from Taren Point just south of Sydney. He knew I had a private pilot’s licence and asked if I was interested in buying an aeroplane he had obtained by tender to melt down for pots and pans. The name P51 didn’t mean a great deal at the time other than it was some sort of RAAF fighter.
My first aeroplane was a Fairchild Argus which I bought shortly after Sammy Dodd gave me my private pilot’s licence. I took my wife Helen to look at my pride and joy. She took one look and claimed, “you needn’t think I’m getting into that thing. That’s the old paper plane from Moree. My father went to Sydney once in that and said he could have got there quicker on a push bike”. That’s what you get for marrying a nurse from Moree.When the non-ferrous dealer mentioned the P51’s 400mph cruise I thought of Helen’s father on a push bike. I was sold
. The price having been agreed upon, $600, my next step was to find a way of getting it out of Sydney and down to Canarney, 5000 acres at Jerilderie.A mate of mine Chris Braun, who had flown P51’s in the RAAF, was now flying for Butler Air Transport. I asked if he would fly the P51 down to Canarney. He was all in favour but DCA not only wanted a new 100 hourly but where was it going and what was to happen when it got there? It was decided it was to be part of a museum at Jerilderie. While these negotiations were in progress I located another aeroplane at Tocumwal, A68-193, an air reconnaissance Mustang for $700. Not saying a word to Helen, I bought that too. It was now time for me to get a conversion as this was not possible at the time, due to prejudice against ex-service aircraft. I decided to obtain one while in the United States.
My partner in Southern Cross Farms in Florida, Lane Ward, found a doctor in Merced, California who owned a P51, and a US Colonel, who were prepared to lend me an aeroplane and teach me to fly it. There was a stipulation that prior to take off I was to write a cheque for the full value of the aeroplane, because if I bent it – I owned it. When the Colonel found out I only had 200 hours and most of that in a Fairchild Argus and a G Bonanza, he thought it prudent that I obtained some time in a heavier aircraft such as a T6.Next day, the Colonel and I started circuits and landings in a T6. He was not all that impressed with my early attempts. Say boy, watch that turn, don’t do that in the 51 or your wife is going to end up owning the aeroplane”. This went on for two days and by the end of it I was sorry I’d ever heard of a P51. Finally the hour arrived when I was due to fly the Mustang. “Now watch that right rudder, keep on top of it, don’t let the torque get away or you’ll knock that guy right out of the tower”.He asked if the pedals were adjusted correctly. I could reach them but didn’t realize they moved a foot – not like the Argus only six inches. After the minute instructions re ram air etc, the Merlin roared to life and I taxied down toward the threshold. “04 Papa ready,” I croaked. My voice sounded strange even to me. My throat was so dry.
Finally it came. “04 Papa cleared for take off, make left turn, remain in the circuit area”.I pushed the throttle forward 30, 40, 50, 60 inches Manifold Pressure. The noise of the Merlin was deafening. I could just make out the guy in the tower. Somehow I had a feeling he was just as frightened as I was. With the power came the torque and more and more rudder to keep the monster racing off to the left towards the tower. I sank lower and lower into the cockpit. Lane later said I could have sworn to God there was no-one in the aeroplane as it took off.”Airborne, I reached for the gear lever and retracted the wheels. The P51 was heading for the skies like the homesick angel it was. Two thousand feet per minute and indicating 200 knots. At 1,000ft I eased back on the throttle to 30 inches and noticing what looked like a 182 Cessna ahead, decided to follow it onto final. Suddenly the Cessna seemed to be attacking me backwards at 200 miles an hour.The landing wasn’t anything to brag about but everyone seemed pleased to see me and the aeroplane back in one piece. I reclaimed my cheque and we all went home to celebrate.
NO 2Max Annear and his mate Sid, two ex-RAAF Mustang mechanics, were checking out and ferrying A68-193 for its ferry flight to Canarney homestead, Jerilderie. When they were satisfied it was ready, Max rang me and Joe Palmer and I flew down to Tocumwal in the red Ryan.There was the Mustang sitting on the tarmac ticking over like a sowing machine. Max must have seen the anxiety on my face. “Tony, are you sure you can fly one of these things?” “You’ve got to be kidding” I said trying to sound confident. “I was taught by the pride of the Yankee Air Force”. I failed to mention my total time on type was ten minutes.It was drizzling with rain as I lined up and there was a sense of déjà vu. There was no tower and the pedals had been adjusted. The canopy clicked shut. I gave them a wave, lined up and opened the taps.Hurtling down the strip I was about to ease back on the stick when there was a loud BANG, then another BANG BANG. The Colonel had said nothing about anything like this. I pulled off the power and applied full brakes. We were fast running out of strip. I left the runway and was now heading for the fence. “God, this is where I make Fisher’s gate. I hope the traffic on the highway gives me the right of way, to which I’m entitled.”The Mustang stopped ten feet from the posts but the Rolls Royce engine was still purring.
I taxied back to Max. “What’s wrong now?” I could hear the disdain in his voice. “I tell you Max, it made a loud bang. It seems to have stopped, - perhaps it was some carby ice”. He was not impressed. “I don’t know, but please check it out”. I was glad to be back in the Ryan on the way back to Jerilderie. I wondered about what it would be like with some mad Jap in a Zero firing six cannons at you and the RR Merlin backfiring as well.Several days later Chris Braun rang up and said he had permission to ferry Mustang A68-104 down to Jerilderie. Fisher’s Airforce was beginning to take shape.About this time, Helen received a letter from my son Robby’s school inviting her up for a chat. We’re a little concerned about Rob. He has this wild imagination even for a five year old. He keeps saying his father owns two fighter aeroplanes, three seventy foot boats (names Vim, Derwent Hunter and Helsal), 500,000 acres in the Northern Territory and four cars including a Rolls and a Caddy”. I could never resist a bargain. “But it’s all true,” poor Helen tried to explain. She was dismayed when she overheard the headmistress say “God, the whole family must be off. Imagine what the father must be like”.From then on I would cross the road anytime I had to pass the school.
It was Australia Day when we had the Carnarney Cup – a private, but everyone welcome air pageant. Max had found that one of the diaphragms in the Merlin had perished, but he had located a guy who had a new Merlin in his garage which he had bought at a disposal auction.He wanted five pounds to change carburetors. Max also required an additional $80 for four drums of avgas (800 litres). Things were somewhat cheaper then.That year we had 100 guests. Those we couldn’t put in the homestead were sleeping in the woolshed and under wings etc. There were 33 aeroplanes that year. Johnny Ault and I got up at 5am, jumped in the Ryan and flew down to Tocumwal where Max was waiting with 193 all fuelled and ready to go. I jumped in, taxied to the runway, switched to ram air, completed the cockpit check and opened the tap. Roaring down the runway I had a great view of where I nearly made Fisher’s Gate. Pulling back on the stick she soared sweetly into the air. Climbing to 3000 ft I levelled off, set the revs at 2000 and the boost at about 30 inches and set the nose for Canarney.
About fifteen minutes later I could just make out the homestead on the Billabong River. The temptation was too great. I lowered the nose, increased the revs to 2500 and boost to 50 inches. The airspeed indicator began to climb well above 300 knots. At about 100 ft I leveled off and passed right over the homestead. Then pulling back on the stick I climbed away at 3000 fpm. Looking back, it was like treading on an ant’s nest. There were bodies coming out of everywhere, mostly in pyjamas and all wondering what all the noise was about.
NO 3 A SHORT LANDING IN A P51My uncle, Bob Macintosh, supervised both Canarney and a property called Concord, 3000 acres of the Cunnineuk Estate just north of Swan Hill. It took him six hours to commute between the properties. Although 25 years my senior, we were great mates and enjoyed one another’s company.He bred and loved race horses, but hated aeroplanes. I hated race horses, but after my mother’s death I had invested half of her estate into the two properties. When things were quiet on Canarney I would often jump into one of the Mustangs and within 20 minutes would be buzzing the Concordhomestead. On one occasion there was a gentle breeze of about five knots coming from the west. There was no one home so I decided to return to Canarney via Cadell which was Edgar Pickle’s place. I flew over the homestead and could see Edgar on the verandah. There was no windsock, the airstrip was only 2000 ft long, and one way from the boundary to his front verandah, east to west. Taking a long final I set myself up in the precautionary attitude and came in low over the boundary fence.After a few seconds and almost half the strip gone, I realized I was doing a downwind landing. I was committed.
I noticed that Edgar had vacated the verandah and was now behind a tree. “God,” I prayed. “here’s where I knock Pickle’s place right into the Wakool River”. Pulling back on the stick and left rudder I attempted to ground loop it to the left, but the brute headed straight for his house. I sheer desperation I applied full right rudder. Round she went in a great cloud of dust coming to rest not far from the fence and the entrance from the main road. A passing motorist seeing the dust and commotion drove straight in and up to the aeroplane, just as I was winding back the canopy.
“Are you all right, mate?”
“Course I’m alright,” I claimed not wishing to emphasise my predicament.
“I thought you’d crashed”.
“No way, that was a normal precautionary short landing”.
“oh yeah” he sounded a bit skeptical. What sort of aeroplane is that?”
“A four bladed Ryan,” I lied. After all he could have been Arthur Doubleday’s (Director of Civil Aviation) brother
.“How fast will it go?”
“400 knots”.
“What’s it worth?”
“800 dollars”.
“I’m learning to fly next year. I was going to buy a Cessna, but now I’ve seen one up close I think I’ll buy a Ryan”.
Pickles was still behind the tree and refused to enter into the conversation until after the prospective Ryan buyer had left.
“Fisher, if you insist in arriving in this manner, I must respectfully request that you change your mode of transport”.We inspected the aircraft taking particular notice of its undercarriage. Edgar gave it a clean bill of health so we retired for a well earned cup of tea.The P51 gave us a lot of enjoyment. They were at Canarney for about six years. One was sold to a fellow by the name of Don Busch and the other to a furniture salesman called Bob Eastgate. Busch unfortunately killed himself due I believe a C of G problem in a steep climbing turn. The other is occasionally flown in Victoria, but not, I’m told by its owner.I have the greatest admiration for this aeroplane which is far more forgiving than many believe. However, my greatest admiration goes to the pilots who flew them in the medium for which they were designed – combat.
While at Jerilderie the aircraft were kept in top mechanical condition by trained RAAF servicemen from Tocumwal. During these six years, we had no airframe or engine failure whatsoever, which speaks volumes for the aircraft reliability. They were housed in a specially constructed hangar, not a barn as has been claimed by the uninformed.They were flown by many pilots including Chris Braun, Joe Palmer, Bill Pike, John Lidner, Charlie Smith, Johnny Ault, Les Barnes and Edgar Pickles. We were all cavalier in many attitudes to life, but never to our aeroplanes.
Centaurus, that was one of the best reads I’ve had in weeks 
