TALES OF A WAYWARD AVIATOR

This forum has been created as an area to share memories of friends, who have passed on, that had a love for flight.

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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

It was Ken , on the radiophone , calling from Taleomey River.

His voice , a monotone but spiced with an undertone of fear , related the story ....

The meeting had gone well up North in Kimsquit and the cantankerous old superintendant and Walter came to an agreement but still , nothing changed. And Bud , another road building company owner took the oppurtunity to get home on a Saturday and happily boarded for the trip to Taleomey where Walter was to be dropped and fuel taken on.

We had built a fuel shed with a barrel pump on one side for the Jet fuel and another on the opposite side for avgas. About a dozen or so barrells are stored inside and we had appropriate grounding straps and "no smoking" signs. Each pump had a go/no go filter ... we spared no expense.

Ken fueled while Walter and Bud were having quite a discussion while Walter changed the pump to another barrel and at the same time , Denise and her mum , Mrs W , walked away up the strip for a cigarette and returned. Denise was eager to learn her new job and went into the shed and looked about. She came back outside and said to Ken , "Hey this may sound like a dumb question , but does the Navajo take Jet fuel?"

Ken froze and released the lever. Pale and ashen he went into the shed and there it was , the last barrel had been Jet B.

You see the barrels are coloured blue , both Jet and avgas. No colour difference at all. Tiny stencilled white lettering is the only way to determine which type of fuel.

Whoever loaded the drums into the shed had not sorted them.

So there we were with two drums of Jet B in the Navajo ,

I had come within an atom of losing the whole family , a pilot and another CEO.

A simple question had turned the tide on fate
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twotter
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Post by twotter »

Duke!!! Just got back to lotus-land today.. Good to see you're still keeping the folks entertained.
Keep the good fight up boy.. I'll call you later this week..
Cheers..
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

.

Just to correct my story , it was determined that the first barrel pumped was Avgas because Ken smelled it and looked at the colour before putting the nozzle all the way in.

Anyhow , here is a post that should also make us all sit up and pay attention. It was in answer to the same story I told on another site.

enigma

Wow, Duke...

That last one hit a little too close to home for me....

About 4 years ago, I had my first flying job with Sundance Air, a 135 freight dog outfit in Denver. At one of the 0-dark-thirty show times I was a little sluggish in waking so my perception wasn't the most fine-tuned. I sluffed my way through the pre-flight thinking that everything was checked to my satisfaction. It wasn't.

It seems the Ronnie the Rookie was driving the 3rd shift fuel truck and hadn't fueled a Navajo yet. The "pristine" airplanes that we had weren't equipped with "100LL only" stickers by the fuel caps. Ronnie tried to jam the Jet-A nozzle in the 100LL hole and eventually decided that a slow, thin stream of fuel was the correct way to fuel the good ol' "Ho".

Seeing that the airplane had been in for maintenance, the fuel levels were quite low prior to getting the erroneous refuel. There was just enough 100LL in the bottom of the tank and the fuel lines to get me out to the runway and up to 60 knots before the engines quit, subsequently burning out the turbos and dumping thick, black smoke out the exhaust stacks. About 40 more knots and a "positive rate" would have seen me at the other end of the runway in a heap. Talk about dumb luck. I now watch the line guys rather closely when getting fuel. Lesson learned...

SK
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

Image
Image
.
C-GJGQ


She sits there , all folorn and devoid of soul. . her wings spread wide and as ready as they could ever be.

But alas! She would never fly again.

She is settled down to the axles in the soft ground , all alone , outside the aviation museum in Victoria B.C. I see the captain's window is left wide open to the weather. It is empty. The window does not frame a face, the face of the last man to fly her .... me.

Her bulbous gear doors look like her bloomers have slipped down to her ankles as the deflated oleos allow her to squat in the mud.... her tailfeathers overgrown by tangled blackberries .

A retired old "queen of the skies" you may ask. .... sadly ... no.

She is an ugly old bird whose carcass has been pecked clean by her sisters ... the three other not so glamourous members of the flock as they struggled for survival by robbing her of body parts until her will was gone and her inventory empty. She is a bag of bones.

But did they steal her soul?

Allow me to share with you , her final flight. It sure was interesting.

May she RIP
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

I had to cover all bases ... I had to find that one little thing that this old harlot could use to kill me. So with a light fuel load we pressurised the fuel system looking for and fixing leaks . The hydraulic system leaked badly but I had decided to go wheels down and locked because the gear had not been swung for two years and some of the flight was over water and I wanted the option of being able to suck up the landing gear in the event of an engine failure. To touch the water with wheels down is fatal as the cockpit slams into the water ahead of ten tons of metal.


Our communications package consisted of a hand held radio and a cell phone. Instruments? Well .. I only needed an airspeed indicator for flight but I insisted on ALL engine guages so I had to make a fast flight to Victoria in the Baron. A light rain was falling as I landed back in Nanaimo and I saw the engineers tidying her up and lockwiring everything that needed it while Inspector Dick Head sat in his car pretending to rumage in his brief case. The engineers seemed to be smiling ... and waiting for something to happen ....

I did not dissapoint them.

I had wandered over to the big aluminium beast when I spied something amiss. There they were ... sticking out like dog's balls.... the gear pins IN ... flagged and everything. They were RED. So was the bull in me. I flung those pins at the government car but they fell short but I kept coming , frothing vehemence. The window went up. "Is that sweat on his lip , .....or snot? " thinks I.

He had made a poor decision to attempt to overide mine. He must have been confused when I respectfully asked for my ferry permit. Now he wanted to "inspect" the airplane. It didn't take him long to see the hole where the stall speed lever was , something we had forgotten to tape over ... but he blurts out.... "You have to have a stall speed indicator " he gleefully blubbers on ...."and ... and y "

I know you are playing for time , thinks I. He is off at 3.30. I know you don't have to have a stall horn but he can stretch this out.... think fast.... I look at the Baron. I may have to speed to Victoria ... I may but the egineer who walked me to the plane had a screwdriver and quickly removed the one on the Baron with nary a chance it would fit the curvature. He took it nonetheless and was installed on the DC3 .... heh! Heh! Heh! ..... upside down.....it did fit the curve that way.

It was enough to fool a fool. But , permit in hand it is time to aviate...
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

Well it seems that I must be one of the luckiest guys alive. I really needed to finish the story I started about old JGQ , the derelect C117 Super DC3 and its final ferry flight.

For the last week I have drifted in and out of bouts of pain that the morphine fails to arrest completely but I promise I will finish the tale.

But I must share something with you all.

I am indeed the luckiest guy alive. As far as my health status goes , I now have a chip light. Yes , the big C is overtaking my innards but as it states in the checklist , you do not shut down the engine on account of a chip light and you proceed to destination while monitoring all other guages.

Today was a good day. A young pilot insisted he buy me a beer so off to the pub we go only to run into people that were concerned that they haven't seen me for a while.

Friends.... wow! ... what a resource. I am truly blessed. I am talking about all types of friends. Its is amazing. Some of the rougher/tougher blokes can show clear emotions , some touching me , some hugging and some glassy eyed. But all had the same message.

So over ambles my mate Teddy. I guess a whole bunch of my other mates from the past came up with a plan and Teddy was the messenger.

They want to have a pre-funeral pissup in a hall with a band and everything, some thinking this would be macabre and spooky but the general consensus was that I could handle it.

I sure can.

It seems that my friends want to say stuff now , not while I am in the box with my arms crossed and a blank look on my face.

It doesn't get any better than that , does it?
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Sawmill Broad
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Post by Sawmill Broad »

Count me in Duke! I'm there in a heartbeat! :wink:
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29chev
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Post by 29chev »

Duke.....where are you :?:

Waiting for the rest of the DC3 story.

29Chev
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

Hey Chevy , I promise I will finish that story but a most amazing thing just happened to me and I am writing a story as we speak.
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Post by Cat Driver »

If it seems amazing to you, I can hardly wait. :mrgreen:

I just got home a couple of days ago and should be here until next week, you coming over this way?

Cat Humper.
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After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

It was tough to drag my arse off the couch given that my bowels are bound up tighter that a bull's arse in fly season but it was an offer that I couldn't refuse ... a call from my young friend Mark. He more or less insisted that he was coming up in his Yak to pick me up and fly to Arlington Washington for the airshow where it was promised that many of my friends would be there and there was lots of good flying to enjoy.

I had flown his Yak before and had carressed this lithe beauty into some smooth aeros and so I settled into the familiar back seat for the thirty minute trip that took me to the Mecca of aviation. You see people at their best at these events and even the customs clearance was both friendly and enjoyable.

We parked in the warbird section next to the Mustang , two Grumman Wildcats , T28's , T6 Texans , 2 L39 jets , Beech 18's , more Yaks, numerous ultralights , homebuilts and restored classics ... hundreds of motor homes , tents and thousands of people with some camped for a week or more.

We then made our way to Camp Sea Bee , a group of outlaw aviators and performers on the fringe. They are the true Rat Pack in the aviation world and yet were always visited by the top performers and aviators and even some aviation loving Transport Canada inspectors on their own time.

They had circled the wagons way off in the far corner but failed to be invisible to the lawmen whose visits bacame more frequent as the week rolled on. And sure enough , there were many of my friends at this den of iniquity where the overwhelming presence of His Immenseness , Jerry Janes , presided. The party was in full swing with a background of tumbling Sukhois and Yaks , snarling ballets of John Mazurecks T6 , Mustangs and all manner of antics but I was most impressed with the gasoline powered marguirita machine that produced two gallons a minute and I was soon to become one of it's victims. The mix of morphine and marguritas felled me like an ox after a brief period of laughs and tales of daring-do so I rested in one of the motor homes only to be awakened later by some bagpipe music that tempted me to rejoin the meelee..

The grandson of His Immenseness at the tender age of fifteen or so was the piper and his younger brother was playing the kettle drum with much flourish and were joined by a young sixteen year old princess with enormous talent. They played with such beauty and finesse that even the oft harrased neighbours couldn't resist to come and enjoy this pleasurable example of youth. I had a bad case of the shakes and couldn't stand up so I settled into a chair with the lovely Donna comforting me. Bud Granley , probably the best living airshow performer (he does a snap roll just after take off in a T6 that defies logic) wrapped my old bag of bones in his jacket as we enjoyed the pipes. I shook like an old radial engine with a bad mag and three plugs oiled up.

Bud wanders off to the pipers ... I sense something going on ...a quick glance at grandpa Jerry ... he is in on it too.

Bud speaks as the crowd hushes. He draws attention to our friends and fallen aviators and suggests we sould never forget them and I am touched.

But then .... " and to them we pay tribute , but also we should pay tribute to those amongst us who will soon pass on ... (a powerful pause) ...and this is now dedicated to Duke Elegant."

First one piper .... Amazing Grace ... the haunting , powerful wailing of the pipes..... and then the second piper kicks in.

My cancer , the pain , the shakes ... all displaced by a joy hitherto unimagined..... hands on by bony , wasted shoulders ... Bud , Mark , Paul , Donna. And a glance at Big Jerry so proud of his grandkids ... this beauty awash in tears of joy.

And all I could say was "It seems like everything is OK."
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leftcoaster
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Post by leftcoaster »

Wow

Been following this thread since last year on the old forum. Link is saved in my favorites.
Especially love your tales of sailing.

My heart is in my throat after that last one.

Cheers Duke


Keith
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

Well it is official now.

The "pre funeral pissup" is 25th July at the Transwest Helicopter hangar in Chilliwack and starts early afternoon with a roast pig , BBQ salmon and a band later. So far there are 150 people and all aviators are welcome.

My family including grandchildren and daughter from Montreal will be here for the afternoon festivities.

I sure have wierd friends eh?
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Post by Cat Driver »

Duke :

I would love to come, however I have to go back to Amsterdam on the 21st.

I will see you when I return and please do not get drunk and ruin your reputation..

.
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After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
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Post by ahramin »

:?: I thought being drunk was his reputation.
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

.

The job in Peace River Alberta had gone quite smoothly considering I was a new Captain on the Casa 212 and the flat terrain of Alberta made it easy to master the art of EM survey flying which was very different from straight Magnetometer flying I had been doing up on James Bay (Attawapaskat) in a Caravan.

We waited for Eric , my co-captain who was also a brand new captain and we had attended the same course in Ottawa. Eric had had some trouble on the course , mainly due to his native toungue , French, but we all spent extra time helping him think in English for the standard operating procedures in a two crew enviroment. Some of us got together after hours in the cockpit of the Casa in the hangar and went through procedures over and over until he was more comfortable. He was a very pleasant chap and we saw the value in this small investment. We had heard that he was a very good pilot. I , too , asked help of a young first officer, Chris , in matters that I did not fully understand.

This next mission was daunting to say the least especially for two rookies. Two other captains had turned down the job because it was way up north above the Arctic Circle and was a tent camp on the barrens of Baffin Island. The engineer was a rookie too , a Greek immigrant called Stathi Popadoppagoppabobbopolis or something. He had been making arrangements to fly south and then the long way around by airlines in order to fly in comfort and arrive on Baffin on the HS748 charter which bore our spares and supplies. I vetoed this by assuming the role of benovelent dictator and informed Ottawa that he was to fly with us. That's the way it is, I informed him after phoning many layers over even his boss's head.... and besides ... I was a Duke.

We launched for Yellowknife , North West Territories where we needed a hangar for preventitive maintainence since we were bare-assed to the elements for the next few months. This was also the departure point for some very long legs over very barren territory with very few alternate airports.

So the Frenchman , the Greek and the Aussie took off on an adventure of a lifetime.
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Post by . ._ »

On the edge of my seat...

Let 'er rip Duke!

-istp :D
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Duke Elegant
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Post by Duke Elegant »

.

The Casa 212 is a chubby little speedster powered by two Dash 10 Garretts of a thousand horsepower each. Designed as a Spanish military troop carrier and cargo aeroplane it is ideal for the electro-magnetic survey role by virtue of its large interior that can accomodate small military vehicles easily loaded by a hydraulic ramp. By adding twin booms protruding from the nose and a large box section boom jutting from the tail, a six strand loop of heavy cables are strung around the whole aircraft (laid horizontally and steadied by arrows that resemble missiles) that pound a million or so millivolts of power into the ground. Once airborne , two "birds" that resemble cruise missiles are let out by their respective winches to trail behind and measure magnetic anomilies produced by ore bodies and oil and gas pockets. It has a surprisingly comfortable and well laid out cockpit that is a blessing when flying long missions close to the ground for hours on end. But no longer a speedster , it is more of a contraption with banks of electronics and AC/DC converters in back including an operators station.

So with the birds winched up against the ramp door , loaded with spares , personal gear, tool boxes and survival gear we droned off to Yellowknife at a blistering 140 knots. We are to meet our Polish operator Jerzy on site and the time in Yellowknife is spent on maintainence and visits with many friends flying Buffalo Joe's DC4's , C46 Curtis Commandos and DC3's. Yellowknife is a Mecca of bush aviation and Buffalo Joe immeditaely offered me a job as DC4 captain but Fugro Airborne Surveys had stuck with me during my first battle with cancer and my loyalty to them was resolute. This loyalty today is paying off many times over.

The company had rewarded us with a large stash of beer and whiskey for the job well done in Peace River and this would be very welcome in a tent camp for sure.

Flight planning for the next leg was complicated by the summer Arctic sea fog that blanketed the northern route via Gjoa Haven and Cambridge Bay so we had no choice but to take the Baker Lake and Hall Beach route that involved nearly four hour legs with very distant alternates so a window of opportunity was sought where there were no headwinds.

We droned high above the barrens that became devoid of trees but replaced by rugged eskers that looked as if they had been scratched into the Canadian shield by the almighty when he was in an angry mood ... they all ran in the same directiion and offered little solace in the event of an emergency landing. The famous Baker Lake cariboo migration herds were too far North for our viewing and we were instead rewarded by the nothingness of Baker Lake where we landed with bare reserves for refuelling. The leg to Hall Beach , an Eskimo villiage on the shores of the still iced up Artic Ocean was mostly in or above cloud. Icing was our enemy as ice would quickly form on the loop causing it to hump thereby giving a ten minute warning prior to plummeting to earth with the glide angle of a greased crowbar. This villiage seemed friendly enough and relatively clean but we elected to push on to Dewer Lakes on Baffin Island which was a Dew Line radar site and our home for the coming months.
Very rugged , rocky mountains loomed on all points of the compass.

Upon arrival we noticed the automatic radar site high up on the hill , a well prepared gravel runway and our teeny camp on the banks of a frozen river. We hadn't seen a tree since Yellowknife. Some cariboo wandered the strip but soon dispersed with the shrieking whine of the Garrets and we parked on the cleared ramp in a cloud of dust. Two all terrain vehicles greeted us , one driven by the data processor and the other by Jerzy , the operator, and these were our only means of transportaion which was OK since there was nowhere to go anyway.

With gear piled high we made our way to the camp over rocks , all the same size , all the wrong size ... even walking was a chore over these devil's marbles.

Enroute , Dave the data processor told me with some foreboding that I won't believe the BHP Australia female geophysicist that was on site. He chuckled and grinned and shook his head often.

The Arctic wind with no warning ambushed us and with the dusk approaching , a shiver enveloped me as we approached camp.

And then I saw her.
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treefrog
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Post by treefrog »

You don't have to tell us.

What everyone else saw was a head like a bull mastif, humungous hogans, three pickhandles across the backside and bad breath.

What the Duke saw was humungous hogans and some other stuff.

We can discuss this on Sunday as I will definitely be at the weenie roast.

Treefrog
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Post by Sawmill Broad »

Seems I have been upgraded from Sawmill Broad to:
Secretary to the Duke!

He tells me I should be honoured.

I am.

For everyone's information, he had taken a turn for the worse and has been in hospital since Friday evening (July16) in considerable pain. Our medical system sucks but perseverence prevails and the good news is that his CT today showed that there is a surgery that can be done to eleviate this. This will happen tomorrow evening so everyone out there should send positive energy his way.

The great 'piss-up'(celebration of his life) will go on this Sunday at the airport in Chilliwack and he will be there either on gurney or else!
That's what he says and I believe it!

He asked me to post this for note for him.
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