Page#5 Tales of an Old Aviator...The Big Chill

Post by **avcanada** » Fri Feb 20, 2004 3:02 pm

Author Tales of an Old Aviator...The Big Chill
Yak Driver

Joined: Apr 08, 2003
Posts: 19
From: Vancouver
Posted: 2003-06-04 11:21
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Hey Duke,

The wife didn't really run you over with the car three times, it just feels that way... I hope you back into good times soon.

We are still having fun here in Sweden, little excitement this morning. It was getting later in the flight we were just talking how many more lines till we head for lunch. Halfway through the conversation, rumble guts, my co-pilot says we better head home NOW! Needless to say our spark farmer in the back got a fresh garbage bag ready as we headed for home

Fortunately we made it, and somebody staggered across the ramp to hapily visit the john. Life is good, and nobody had to change clothes. Guess we wont be eatin at that greek place anymore...

Other than that life in Sweden is pretty tiring. All these damn blonde beautiful women chasing us all the time, we are surviving.

Lets hear some more Stories DUKE!

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RAT

Joined: May 13, 2003
Posts: 33
From: Flat half
Posted: 2003-06-05 12:45
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Hey Mr. Elegant, I heard a story about the avengers travelling from BC to New Brunswick and It goes something like this:

A formation of three was being ferried eastbound. The formation had to stay together because only the lead had a map to navigate with.

They were over an overcast somewhere in the Great Lakes area just droning along, waiting for the cloud to scatter out (supposedly VFR)and the #2 and #3 planes watch in horror as the lead opens up his canopy, and map in hand, jumps out and parachutes down as the Avenger slowly dives down into the overcast.

You could imagine the horror as these guys couldn't say exactly where they were within a hundred miles.

Turns out, the engine was slowly losing oil pressure and the lead though he'd have some fun by f*@king with his buddies heads! Seeing as he was going to have to ditch it regardless. Anyway, when I heard this story, I just shook my head with a grin.
_________________
Airspeed, altitude or brains; you always need at least two.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-06-30 18:10
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I have just emerged from the deep , dark, wretched abyss of chemical warfare....treatment #7 folks.......five more to go.

My plan is to smoke a doobie, down a couple of Foster's Golden Throat Charmers, wait for them to soak in and write.

It was the late '90's

Our group of three firebombers had just rumbled into town from Dawson City and we were in need of rest, so after the paperwork we were off to our rooms for a shower. I threw my swag into the corner beside Ted's stuff.
Because of a room shortage he had used my room. No worries.... his stuff was in a suitcase and some shirts hung in the . They had been base changed to Watson Lake.
We had a few beer in my room and just then, the phone rang.... it was Ted, and could he leave his stuff there? No worries. "Wait!" says I, " we just rolled in and I have no clean stuff, could I use one of your shirts, the Apricot number would fit my sleek and panther - like body."
"Go ahead " says he so we sprayed on some Whore Lure and off to town we went to indulge in some horizontal refreshment, only to return a slobering, unsatiated, howling mob of hyenas.
What's the cure for that? More beer.... so we did.
We couldn't figure why we couldn't get laid.
"It's the fuckin' shirt" I exclaimed. So it was Ted's fault. I crept off to the front desk and got the clerk to get some packets of peanut butter from the kitchen and slinked back to the room full of morons.
I grabbed two neatly folded pair of Ted's underwear and deftly smeared a couple of crunchy skid marks in the crotch, addind much to the merriment. I placed them in strategic
positions where only a glimpse, he would catch.
We couldn't wait for their return in the morning and upon their arrival, a small group, coffee in hand, lurked.
Ted came bounding into the room and I thanked him for the shirt. He saw some underwear, laying beside his suitcase, on the bed.
He went to gather it up and he exploded...." "You @#$!*ng pig" and his face was as red as a baboon's ass... "I let you use my goddam shirt... and ....This!... you bloody..." off he trailled in a tirade.
"Ted," I wimper... "I caught a bug in Dawson...severe diarhea... couldn't help myself..." He got worse....
The crown shuffled in, suppressing their mirth.
"Ted," says I as I strode over and grabbed a pair of gaunch," maybe it's not mine."... I first sniffed, then took a long lick............Ted knew he had been had.
We howled long into the night.

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Sulako

Joined: Oct 19, 2001
Posts: 310 Posted: 2003-06-30 18:50
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I hope you live to be a hundred and ten.
I hope that when you go at a hundred and ten, it's not cancer, it's murder.
I hope your murderer is a jealous husband.

I feel like I owe you something tangiable for the stuff you have put on here. Thanks again

*edit* do you have an email addy?
Drop me a line at pil8@hotmail.com sometime.

_________________

[ This Message was edited by: Sulako on 2003-06-30 18:53 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-06-30 19:13
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There was another side to Ted ... Ted Stenton was his name.

I had showed up for my contract late so I had to do my annual training in Whitehorse.

I had way more bomber time than Ted and was in fact, way better. Better than most actually.

But I knew I would always learn from Ted as he was an excellent training pilot.

Because of my experience and his training ability we planned a mission where we would explore a dark corner of the Invader's performance.

It goes like this...... The A26 will unstick comfortably at 110 KTS and some pilots leave it on till 120KTS but usually at this speed you have dusted off the numbers on the departure end of the runway.

122 Knots is "empty VMC"

An engine failure at lift off requires that you come back on the good throttle and go in straight after you dump your load.

Sure, the numbers are tight .... don't forget we have gear coming up where the nosewheel twists to 90 degrees in order to lay flat in the nose..... lots of drag.

It's the dumping of the load that is the problem. Four tons. When we firebomb at 122Kts there is slight pitchup, because we have full flap. On take off we have 15 degrees of flap.

So the plan is to drop it one door at a time...boof! boof! .. to keep the pitchup less.

We were to simulate this at altitude. I had experienced problems with the bomb button but the engineer convinced me it was all my fault.

South of Whitehorse we climbed above the spectacular scenery and got our shit together. Setup.... simulated engine failure after liftoff... 122Kts, gear coming up, and 15 degrees flap. The bomb button was selected "one door"

I already had full power.... 52" MP...2750RPM
He closed the throttle "simulated engine failure " he announced.

I punched the button. F*CK ME!!!!!!!
Both doors went! She pitched violently towards vertical, pulling lots of G.

I pushed hard on the column...... just as the tail was blanketed by the huge gob of water and a pitchup attitude... so she pitches violently downward.... Sheeeeeeee.... it! We were slack jawed ....

And the engineer.......
Still my fault.
Oh well.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-06-30 19:57
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Aviation has a soul. I have said it before.
That is where the inspiration comes from, for some of us at least.

I have always been immune to job shortages because I am a contract pilot and I have a free enterprise spirit. It helps to be REALLY good too!

It is aviation that took me to spectacular places on earth hitherto unimagined.

Here is one of those stories.

Goroka, New Guinea. Before independence.

Goroka was a garden of Eden. At 5000 feet we escaped the torrid, humid, tropical coastal weather. Ferns, flowers, fruit, vines, coffee all grew in abundance.

Coffee. That was our business at the time. We were Chimbu Traders. Our coffee trucks scoured the southern highlands buying coffee but roads were scarce.

There were no roads to Karimui which was carved into the side of a dormant volcano and was therefore incredibly fertile. Their coffee was the best. There was a Seventh Day Adventist mission there and they traded with the natives in a not so honourable fasion. We set up a trade store where we would fly cargo in... like rice, flour, axes, flashlights, cigarettes and lots of canned tuna.

I would lumber off Goroka in the old Aztec, heavilly laden with cargo and climb up to make it out of the valley. The trip was spectacular ... deep sloped gorges, thunderous waterfalls, lush green jungle and huge trees. We would go down deep into a gorge to find a vine suspension bridge strung impossibly across a thunderous jungle river.

Upon landing a crowd would gather and a "boy line" selected to carry the cargo to the trade store. Peter Worley, our trade store manager, would do a stock check, grab the loot and come up to the airport where the villagers would have all bought their coffe for us to buy. We would weigh it and a few natives would bag it and pile it to be flown out on backloads. I learned their language fast and had a special bond with the people there. It was impossible to leave without the plane being stuffed with avocados, papaya, mangoes and vegies..... simple gifts...from them.

It was a leper colony, but the heredetiry type where it is not contagous and it ate away the extremities and healed as it went.

There was this one old dude who had no legs, just stumps.In full tribal dress including Bird of Paradise feathers and a bone in his nose, he would pound down the mountain on his knuckles with a tube of bamboo across his back. It was usually skunky and we would keep it separate and throw it away later.

But I always gave him his 50 cents. He would hold out his hand and some of his fingers were gone. Just as he reached I would pull away. He couldn't hop with just one fist so with two fists he would pound after me. The crowd shrieked with delight. Again, the hand went out, I would go in a circle,behind him and he would awkwardly attempt to spin around as I held out the 50 cents.... I teased him more.... they laughed. If I put the money on his hand it would often roll off.....
Maybe twenty minutes this went on. When we were done he would babble at me with huge tears in his eyes ... grateful tears ... I had made him King for A Moment anyway.

I learned that from old timers who knew these people ....there is so much to learn out there.

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g0five

Joined: Nov 03, 2001
Posts: 870
From: the depths of insanity
Posted: 2003-07-02 12:38
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"I had way more bomber time than Ted and was in fact, way better. Better than most actually."

Hmm .. a bit conceited Duke?

If your flying is anything like your writing then I'll have to give you the benefit of the doubt..

Cheers.

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Schooner69

Joined: Oct 18, 2001
Posts: 200
From: Atlantic Canada
Posted: 2003-07-02 14:57
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Duke: if the "Ted Stenton" you refer to was in the military, then I was on squadron with him in the late fifties/early sixties.

I echo the sentiments of several of the posters here. If these anecdotes are not already in book form, they should be. They are a howl.

I had nearly 24 years in the military and about 22 in civil aviation, and, although I had my share of fun times, they were nowhere near the level attained by you and your buds. I have the feeling, though, that from your writing, we would have had some rare times together.

Bye the bye, I knew Butch Foster in Edmonton...I think he had a mini mustang on the go at the time. I might be wrong about that...after all, it was back in the mid seventies!

Take care, my friend. I'm not into prayers that much, but I will have a word with the big controller about you.

John

(At present, swatting mosquitos in the land of the midnight sun....Yellowknife)

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-02 20:07
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g0five

I know Ted will eventually read that statement about me being the best ...
Should torque him up reeeeeeeal goood!

But then, I was better anyway.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-02 23:03
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Schooner

Ted would be too young to be in your time but I believe he was indeed an Air Force Brat...he claims that as a kid he got a ride in the back of a TBM .

Butch Foster went on to build a scale P40 and has just finished a Cavalier. Still flying the A26 and in fact out on contract as we speak.
Butch and I shared some magic once .....

The story I told about shooting Butch's model P40 out of the sky with spud guns took place in Manning Alberta. It was a very boring small farming community but over the years we made friends with some farmers who let us use the fields to fly the models. Those friendships grew over the years so we were deeply saddened when an old timer was killed in a tractor accident.

The funeral was on a sunny day but we were on yellow alert so I arranged with the forestry that we could attend but we would stay at the back of the church and in fact I was outside with a cell phone. The dispatcher had the number so in the event of a fire dispatch we were ready to roll and wouldn't disturb the service. The old timer's daughter worked for forestry and her boss Ken Yakima was to give the eulogy.

Wouldn't you know it. Five minutes into the service the dispatcher calls ... fire 150NM north... co-ordinates ... blah blah blah.
I signalled to the crew and we snuck out un-noticed and piled into the van.

Brakes on and all clear ...Boost pumps high.
I cranked the starter , mixture full rich. I counted nine blades then mags on .. she jerks and shudders as a few of the eighteen cylinders kick in ..and she settles into an orgasmic Harley like rumble as she smooths out.

I taxied to the pits for my retardant load prior to runup which is done slowly and deliberately ... trust me.

I lined the '26 six up for a take off to the West. The fire was to the North which required a right turn .. but then I had a feeling that I had really wanted to be at George's funeral so maybe I'll pay a visit.... a few miles South. I was first off and I would probably overtake the bird-dog anyway so I had some time ... all at $175 per hour too.
Maybe 500 feet... maybe six ...I was legal coz I was within safe gliding distance to a landing area. Also I was doing three hundred knots ..Anyhow, I scorched over the church then turned North to the fire.

We fought the fire all afternoon and upon return we were treated to a fine meal by forestry while we did our paperwork. It was then I learned that Butch Foster, who took off number four, had independantly decided to do the same thing as I had done and he , too, had scorched over the funeral.
Then we got a visit from Ken Yakima, the senior forestry guy who had given the eulogy.... Ken was glassy eyed .. He said that it was uncanny ... and beautiful what had happened that day. During the eulogy he told how we bomber guys loved old George and, just as he made an apology to the congregation on our behalf that we were not in attendance, I roared overhead. And just as he finished his speech , Butch roared overhead .. he said you could not EVER have arranged that.

Aviation showed her soul one more time .............

....

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Spiraldive

Joined: Dec 08, 2001
Posts: 214
From: OGG
Posted: 2003-07-03 00:45
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Duke:

You have clearly forgotten more about flying than most of us will ever have the chance to know. The battle you now fight is not a new one, but more people than you have ever met want you to win it. Me included.

If you have given to your family half what you have given to flying, your family must think you are a saint (silly them, we all know pilots are bastards at heart ).
I have a feeling that we’ll get the chance to hear your sordid stories about the merits of one stewardess over another for some time to come. And don’t worry, like all good aviators, we won’t tell your wife or family. Promise. Really. We won’t.

Btw, that you can both write AND fly is unusual, since many pilots can’t do either.

For the record, your stories make me a little mad, ‘cause those were the glory days when stewardesses made less money than the pilots, and passengers thought pilots were heros for just getting them on the ground still alive. Now the ‘stews, many of whom are pushing 55, whine like abandoned dogs if they even feel the plane land and ‘risk’ is a word alien to the travelling public.

It is nice to hear tales told as only the true pilots can tell them. I have had the privilege of hearing similar stories told of the days when smoking pipes was the norm in the cockpit and the "stews" were as free thinking as the crazy bastards that flew them around. The trouble-makers were inevitably listed as the best pilots of the bunch.

Your tales list you as one trouble-maker who is either truly blessed, incredibly skilled, or just plain lucky. (I see that you seem to favour, ahem, -"incredibly skilled"-, modesty not being a trait found in most pilots, I guess)

I have the pleasure of knowing a few other aviators who have lived through similarly silly (and from what I can see, enviable) careers (using Germany as a dogfight playground in Sabres? Whee!) . Also some of the less enviable flying, ie. flying when and where they shouldn’t, for reasons that TC would have kittens over these days. Like getting the job done ‘cause war, hunger, or family, called for it.

In thirty-five years time, Duke, your friends and family may have an excuse to have no dry eyes in the house. And some similarly crazed trouble-makers may have figured out a way to steal a fleet of TBM Avengers from the Canadian Aviation Museum and overfly the church in missing-man formation. Should the time come, I’ll happily steal one myself and then write tall stories about it. Until then…

History is written not by the victors like everyone says it is- it’s written by the survivors.

And your stories list you as being solidly among them.

My best wishes and hopes that you’ll be writing your own damn history for some time to come. Tell me when the book comes out.

Be well.

Spiraldive.

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Brian

Joined: Nov 22, 2001
Posts: 722
From: From: From: ^C
Posted: 2003-07-03 08:18
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> both write AND fly is unusual, since
> many pilots can't do either.

Hey! That's not true - I can write!

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-16 16:59
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I just walked in the door.....from the chemo ward... SICK .... Five more days of this
shit!!!! Spewing, shitting..... nausea

Phone call ... Electra down ... two killed

Ebert and Ian Mckay.

@#$!! Dear, dear friends they were ..twenty years

@#$!.... I am a lucky man

I'm alive .......

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-16 17:21
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Five months ago I was told I had two years at most. And it will be lingering.............

They went quick ....

What do I say ? Are they the lucky ones ..?

My fellow aviators ... you have supported me with my illness and I have shared many
stories with you..

Now you must share in my grief

I am shamelessly weeping for them.

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5by5

Joined: Jul 15, 2003
Posts: 12
From: T dot
Posted: 2003-07-16 18:41
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Duke:
I just happened on this forum the other day and only today did I see any of your posts. I just finished reading them beginning to end.
What can I say, your stories moved me profoundly. The best compliment I can think of giving right now is that you reminded me of why I love flying (which is no small feat now that I'm facing my 3rd layoff).
I feel stronger after reading your tales and know what I want to do now more clearly than ever.
I know that everyone else on this forum has been affected similarly and shares the deepest wishes for your quick and speedy recovery.
I am also very sorry for the loss of your friends on the electra. My deepest condolences go out to their families.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-16 23:38
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IN FLANDERS FIELDS WHERE POPPIES BLOW
AMONGST THE CROSSES , ROW ON ROW.

Major McRae wrote this most powerful tribute to fallen comrades and it has never been surpassed.

I , too , have a memorial.

My log book . Walk with me through this.

I open my tattered logbook .. I don't open it far ... only to the inside front hardcover.
There is no use going to the log entries .. I stopped logging hours fifteen years ago.
It's funny isn't it? My eager and neat handwriting at first would not miss a "point one" of an hour. Then, ten years later, just monthly guesses ..and towards the end , a one line yearly guess ... like ..."150 hours firebombing ... Yukon" . I usually left big gaps as if I intended to fill them in someday. I never did.

37 years, 18,000hrs plus.

I pick up the pen and I am pausing. The last entry, number 60, Tim McEvoy. Drowned in a floatplane accident.
Now... I write .. #61 Ebert #62 Ian McKay.
It is written .. we are soon to bury them.

I am now strolling amongst the imaginary crosses , row on row in my logbook. Sixty two aviators that I knew personally. Christ! Sixty two!

Thirteen are military. Mirage fighters, two.
Canberra B57 , two. ..hit my a missile in Vietnam.Two crashed on my Airforce course.
#5 Phil .... he was top of our RAAF course ... in a Mirage in Thailand. #9 Barry Donald... he was my Pilatus Porter instructor....134 bullet holes.
Six more during training in helicopters and Caribou transports.
I stroll into the New Guinea section ... I pause at #13. Doug Hunt, a Canadian. His Turbo Aztec caught fire at ten thousand feet ... we heard him on HF. The wing burned off.

#17 and #18. Crashed 200 feet from my house whilst circling low over my house being constructed ... they were waving at me but I looked away .. I didn't feel right... I didn't want to encourage them.. it was gusty.. I looked up to see the impact.Dicky
Potter .. on fire in a TBM ..trying to land at Dunphy and went into the river.
Wasn't his fault.

A few more steps and I am in the fire-bombing area.DC6's, A26's , Firecats, helicopters.
About twenty. Tom Davidson, in an A26, pressed the bomb button in cruise. The pitchup tore the wing off...Bummer.
I pause at Simon Beauchamp.... we were very close. I shed a tear . I backed out of bombing that year so he took my tanker.
Heli logging... six. I used to fly them to their contract in a King Air.
Floatplanes, DC3's. and even C172's/ 150's

I come to the end of the row. I see two holes side by side, the dirt piled neatly...we will bury them soon.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-07-16 23:45 ]

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-07-16 23:52 ]

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-07-16 23:54 ]

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Flying Nutcracker

Joined: Jun 05, 2003
Posts: 291
From: Someplace far away, and then a bit
Posted: 2003-07-16 23:50
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I don't think I have ever been as speechless as I am now...

Sir... as strange as it may sound, I do believe you ARE the lucky one! You still have the memories.

My condolences

[ This Message was edited by: Flying Nutcracker on 2003-07-16 23:52 ]

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sarsteve

Joined: Jul 13, 2003
Posts: 19
From: DownHomer, now DownUnder
Posted: 2003-07-17 19:12
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"Don't whine and trivialize when you haven't been there.
Lets keep our profession out of the gutter...we need each other. "

From the very beginning, these words of yours have been in my head. They are still there now. We don't know each other, and probably never will, much to my disappointment.

I am, at this moment, almost speechless. For those who know me well, those times are few and far between. I too, however, have kept a list. Your musings though, have only increased my belief that those who truly love this life, would never have done anything else for a living.

I can offer only these few words, and the promise that the next time I'm low over the Blues or Snowys, I'll pray my ass off for a speedy and complete recovery for you. Enough good men have gone before, God will just have to wait for your immoral soul.

Bravo Zulu, you da man

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-22 09:08
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I am bringing this page forward for you, Jim.

We are off to R ossland for the funeral of our two fallen aviators.

A sad day but followed by much merriment as a salute.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-07-22 09:09 ]

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-11-17 15:10 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-22 09:11
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Why won't Avcanada allow me to type land?
Also, how come I couldn't type in "Eric" when I tried to write about Ebert?

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-22 11:01
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Did you ever wonder why you got into this business?

Sure, there are the romantics, that , as boys had their faces pressed up against the airport fence ,washing airplanes for a ride.... aaah the sweet nostalgia.

Not me.

At sixteen, my dad gave me a choice. Sixteen year olds need guidance, not choices. We don't know anything.

A chance to get out of the horrible second boarding school in the outback. It was in a remote place so they could see an escapee running away for three days. I was top of my class in grade ten. My dad had a job lined up in a bank for me. I foolishly took the bait.

He then put himself through med school at the age of thirty five.

I came to work often with black eyes, either from rugby or fighting the local lads who saw my sleek and panther like body as a threat. And a threat, I was. They fought outside the dance hall amongst themselves as I squired the ladies, all sitting like wall flowers around the floor. So on the rugby field, the local boys came after me. Fleet of foot, I was, which was my only defence.

The bank inspectors came.

"It is not working out for you or us" they claimed.

I remember, in grade three seeing Tiger Moths doing aerobatics. It didn't really turn me on. One day a Meteor screeched across the school and all it did was scare the shit out of us.

But I joined the Royal Australian Air Force as a "baggy arse." My first encounter involved getting fitted for a uniform. We wore uniforms all through boarding school.

They had three sizes. Too big, too small, and not in stock. But they did send me to paradise, Townsville, in Queensland.

Palm trees, beaches, tanned babes and Neptunes. I was a clerk, the lowest form of life hithertoo discovered on the planet. I didn't care.

Sometimes one pulled guard duty, at night, to protect the twelve Neptunes. For protection we were given a flashlight and a bycycle. Some nights someone would be behind the planes duck hunting or sneeking around for no reason.
"Halt! Who goes there?" I would chalenge.

"Piss off" they would reply. So I would go to the hangar and climb into the huge basket of cleaning rags and sleep.

Often the Mirage fighters would come through on the way to the Darwin base. My favourites were the F86 Sabres. The pilots would lounge on the grass whilst refuelling... including Vance Drummond. He was later killed in a Mirage when he ejected going supersonic.

More to follow ... over

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-22 11:37
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One day a Sabre scorched across the base and went vertical through the only blue hole in the sky.... and out of sight. @#$!, I wanna do that.

They were lazy days on a slack, relaxed base. Maybe it was the heat. I had an MG sports car and, along with about five other sports cars, spent many a day touring and having rallies.
Before a rally, we would go to the bulk storage (Nurses quarters) and grab one each and go to exotic tropical places. Magnetic Island was a tropical paradise and often we went there.

As I lay on the beach..... that bloody Sabre...upward rolling to the blue hole. I rememberd one thing I had learned from a Canadian exchange guy who loved dog teams.
"The lead dog has the best view." The rest are just looking at arseholes... I'll do it.

I needed to upgrade my education so instead of hangin' about with the arseholes at night I enrolled at night school and hung about with a bunch of bronzed goddesses who were students. I didn't learn much.

I also represented the Air Force in swimming so on a roadtrip in the Dakota I applied to at least have the medical fo the upcoming application when I graduate. I was super fit but I failed the medical ... I was devastated. So I tried to get out of the forces. I went to the shrink and told him I was nuts. He told me to piss off.

Then came Vietnam. All of a sudden the Army was looking for pilots so down I went to apply. At the interview board consisting of four Colonels and one General.... I played high stakes poker. Oh how I waxed eloquent about my struggle to complete night school .... and how I neglected my own friends in order to achieve my mission to protect my country by killing little brown guys. I had no choice but to go for the throat ... there is no way I would have graduated as my only interest at school was horizontal refreshment. They guffawed and slapped each others shoulders as they wished there were more young men like me. I nearly pissed myself ... I had pulled it off...and with aplomb and alacrity too.Hell! They were so impressed they couldn't wait for me to graduate... the country needed me now. But I was to be trained as a platoon commander first.Shit! I didn't want to shoot anyone. I trembled. But they saw an erect, strapping, good looking loyal patriot. How I was to dissapoint them.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-07-22 11:44 ]

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sarsteve

Joined: Jul 13, 2003
Posts: 19
From: DownHomer, now DownUnder
Posted: 2003-07-22 17:22
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Keep 'em coming, even though I've never heard anyone call Townsville paradise.:;-):

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-28 23:00
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Late ninetys ...

I had had a good year of fire bombing and was approached by a young bloke who needed an operations manager to run his three Super DC3's up and down the coast hauling live seafood. I was between wives at the time and I liked the location ..... Victoria. I told him I would take on the job as General Manager and so I hired an operations manager and we moved into the old Awood hangar at the Victoria airport. Life was good. I lived on my forty foot yacht at the Sidney marina and stole a good secretary away from Pentagon Aviation who was about to go tits up anyway.
We were in a hurry to get the planes flying as there was lots of work around. One contract came up at Bronson Creek (Snip gold ine) where a DC4 had just crashed in the river killing the Captain after he had turned the DC4 around in a tight valley with one engine on fire which eventually fell off. A brave soul and an excellent pilot, he got her pointed back towards Bronson and bellyed into the Iskut River where the F/O and engineer got out alive .. he drowned. The plan was to haul three concentrate bags, each weighing three thousand pounds plus, to Wrangel Alaska where we would load 1600 gallons of diesel and fly back. The con bags were piling up and the call came. I needed pilots and also, a chief pilot.
I hired a young eager bloke as CP who we shall call Capt Triffic .... coz thats what he thought he was. I had already found two very experienced old Captains, one with ten thousand hours on DC3's and lots on the DC4.
One was old Al. He was an old gentleman to boot but his aircraft handling was superb.He had flown mostly in the North.
Well Captain Triffic immediately blurted out that Al was too old and would be hard to train .... WELL! ex...fuckin'...'scuse me!!.I told Capt Triffic that I don't throw old dudes on the garbage heap and that Al was hired and that was that and get the hell out there and train him. You guessed it, he came back and said Al was too slow on the radio and was slow getting it together. I suggested that we put a sharp tongued F/O with him and ship him off to Bronson. Clearly Triffic didn't want a threat like Al around. So I finished Al's training and his ride was exemplarary. Now I had to have Triffic line indoctrinate Al so I sent them on a crab mission to Alaska. The departure point was Nanaimo.

More to follow....
Over

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-07-28 23:57
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Capt Triffic had already pissed me off by not caring about the planned take off time not realizing that crab fishermen awaited him and they had a life too.

The I got the phone call .... from Old Al ... from a pay phone.

"Well , Duke," he says in an ever so gentle voice showing no malice, "I guess Iv'e been fired."

Well it turns out that Al had pulled out a plate for the briefing prior to taking off on runway 34 and briefed with reference to the required left turn after take off ... except he read the plate for runway 16. A left turn took you to the mountains.

"Be right there," says I as I leaped into my Baron and scorched to Nanaimo in twelve minutes.

I found Al at the payphone and he followed me the the airplane ... and captain Triffic.

Triffic waved his scrawny arms as he postulated as to the close call with death he had experienced this bright blue day. How I loathed him.

I didn't say much.

"Triffic, you bloody moron ... why do we have briefings, did the system work, or not?
Why did you let him carry on with the wrong plate?"
I paused .. I thought...
I wheeled around to Triffic ... "PISS OFF!" says I.

I turned to Al with hand outstretched ..
"Welcome to your new job as Chief Pilot" says I.
This was something I would NEVER regret.

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Lizzard

Joined: Aug 02, 2003
Posts: 1 Posted: 2003-08-02 13:18
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Duke,

Wow, the stories are great. I am the Bombardier pilot you met at Chilliwack, the former Marine hornet pilot. I hope you are feeling well.

We made it to Oshkosh. I flew the Murphy Moose on Tuesday in front of a few thousand folks. This flight was the first in front of the public for the intro of the new V300T. It is a v-6, 300hp, water cooled, smooth and soundless engine.

I made a nice climb for the folks after takeoff. Then a "high speed" pass at 200 feet. Well, high speed is relative and 200' isn't low but it seemed to please the brass of Bombardier. The people seem to really like it. It flew well, both the Moose and the new engine.

Keep the stories coming, and I am proud to have met you.

Eddie Moran

[ This Message was edited by: Lizzard on 2003-08-02 13:22 ]

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snow

Joined: Nov 22, 2001
Posts: 21
From: canada
Posted: 2003-08-04 23:52
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Hello Duke Elegant. As I read your last few post about fallen aviators, I looked back on my aviation career (the whole three years). I have been lucky no list yet...
Then the phone rang this morning.
A family friend drowned in a Beaver crash yesterday:(

The damn list starts #1

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-08-05 14:28
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SNOW

It is with genuine pathos that we all mourn the loss of your friend.

And I know how you feel .... #1. It's tough.

Do we become more tough and find it easier to handle the loss of fallen comrades?.

No.

But there is something that lies a little deeper ..... and it helps us understand why we are fliers.

My # 1 was in 1967.

There were six of us, all Army officers, on #67 RAAF Basic Flying Course. There were a couple of Mid-Shipmen from the Navy and the rest were Officer Cadets in the RAAF. Thirty in all.
We were somewhat priveledged in that we stayed in the Officer's Mess and we were a tight bunch, having just graduated as Second Lieutenants from one of the toughest Platoon Commander courses on the planet.

We partied hard. We had it made.

We flew the Winjeel, like a smaller version of the T6, powered by a PW985. Two upward rolls were all she could handle .... then things got interesting.

We bullshitted in the mess late into the nights, all cylinders firing on Bundy Rum. We joked about "goin' in" .... like... "Hey Dennis! When you go in can I have your E6B?"
..and... "Duke, your lady and I sure are gonna look cool in your Jag after you "go in". False bravado, I think they call it.

The flight line was filling up fast as planes returned from our 1hour 20mins flight periods. Half were dual half solo. Shit we had fun. We swaggered across the tarmac, parachutes and Mae West's over the shoulder, already eager to share our flight."Hey Perry! Ya haven't speared in yet eh?". Someone looked back towards the training area ... a thick plack plume of smoke billowed up into the clear blue sky. It could have been anything , a train, a building.... couldn't be one of us. We all glanced furtively at each other..then towards the line .. counting ...fourteen, fifteen.... where is the last one?. We all turned looking for other friends..Smith.. no Evans... no

"Shit! It's Mayhew" I yelled. We were not joking anymore.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-08-05 14:49
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And indeed it was Barry Mayhew. They were scheduled to do Unusual Attitudes, Limited Panel. We were put into aerobatic positions with our head between our legs and then told "It's yours"
Lots of rolling G's were pulled .... a bad thing. The wing broke off.

So the Army has a tradition whereby an officer's personal belongings can only be gathered by two officers of equal rank ... I was one chosen.

We went to his room.

We were proud of our uniforms, and Barry was proud of his too. It hung, neatly pressed, in his alongside his sword.
Normal stuff ... socks, underwear... all in their reglation positions. A half constructed model airplane ... Books ..aviation tales mostly.
Here, a half finished letter. I may have to send it off .. @#$!. I couldn't look. Who to?
It was to his mother.
Here, a few words as if trying to write a poem..... were they any good? I can't remember. They did inspire him so they were good.
I put on my aviation sunglasses .. I did not want Warren to see the tears.

I think I had caught a glimpse at the Soul of Aviation.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-08-05 14:55 ]

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co-joe

Joined: Jun 12, 2003
Posts: 893
From: a town by the lake
Posted: 2003-08-05 15:34
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Thanks for the stories,

Good luck, and thank you. CJ