Did you read the story I wrote for Todays Pilot in England about the time I got lost in the Arctic?
where do we read the story
DC3.
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Cat Driver
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Re: DC3.
either in the May 2008 edition of Todays Pilot, or here.................
Arcturus, Missing Hours and Fate - By . .
Finally after over a week of just plain tough flying weather the stars came out and we would depart Johnston Point on Banks Island for what should be an easy flight. This flight would turn out to be remembered forever as one of the closest calls I have ever had in almost fifty years of flying. The year was 1975, late February. We were flying supplies to a cat train that was shooting seismic lines for oil exploration on Banks Island in the high Arctic.
Johnson Point, an oil exploration base camp with a paved runway, was the main airport for supplying the western Arctic. In these very high latitudes winter means total darkness for months and navigating in that very hostile environment is difficult at the best of times. We had just gotten our first twin otter equipped with a new navigation aid called Global Navigation System. G.N.S. was based on very low power radio transmitters located in various parts of the world. In order for the computer to be able to navigate it had to acquire at least three G.N.S. transmitters.
Latitude and longitude had to be entered, for both our departure and destination points, in the computer. This entry was done with little wheels to select the numbers and other information for each trip. A further limiting factor with G.N.S. was that we had to have accurate positions for the computer to navigate to wherever we set it. Cat trains are always on the move, consequently requiring a navigator with each train to take celestial shots whenever he could to accurately keep track of their new location.
Once the G.N.S. stations were acquired and the trip was set up it was so accurate we could fly several hundred miles and then return to our parking ramp at the airport without a hitch. To us G.N.S. was like having died and gone to heaven. Being able to navigate so accurately in the high Arctic, where the magnetic compass always points strait down, was a "god send". This particular trip to the seismic train was uneventful with no cloud cover at all just the stars from horizon to horizon. After the last week of flying all our trips from takeoff to landing on solid instruments while relying on two radar altimeters one in front of each pilot for our landing decision height this one had been easy. The only visibility restriction we had was the complete loss of forward visibility in the snow which blew up when we went into reverse to stop on the short runway, which had been ploughed for us, on the ice.
Sometimes these strips were not much over 1000 feet long due to the location of the cat train at that time therefore, reverse was a necessity to stop before we ran off the landing strip. With clear weather and no rush to get back to Johnson Point we went to the cookhouse, had a leisurely meal, listened to the tape recorder playing music such as North to Alaska, which we of course changed to South to Alaska. Finally, off to the airplane we went where we decided to hell with waiting to reset the G.N.S. Instead, with such a clear night, we would fly back to home base using the astro compass. After lighting up the two P.T.6's we taxied back to the runway and lined up with the flare pots. We got the almanac out and shot Arcturus. It is one of the easiest stars to identify and shoot due to its position and brightness in the sky. Arcturus is the first bright star out from the handle of the Big Dipper. We read our heading on the astro compass, set our direction indicators (gyros) and off we went for Johnston Point. Once leveled off in cruise there was nothing but the sound of the engines and the big canopy of stars that ended in a faint white blur which was the endless Arctic snow just barley visible below us in the faint starlight.
Sitting in the warm cockpit with only the sound of those dependable turbine engines and no sense of movement through the dark night I slowly became aware that something was wrong but could not quite figure out what it was. I remember asking the co-pilot to see if Johnson Point was showing up on the A.D.F. After a few minutes he had no luck, now I came wide awake and said, "This doesn't look right. Let's get another shot on Arcturus.". Once more I gave him the time and he read the almanac to set the astro compass. Again there was no change in our D.I. settings. All of a sudden a possibility came to me and I asked him what time he had. When he read his watch we both knew we were really in trouble as there was almost three hours difference between our watches. I will never forget the feeling of real fear when I realized that we had departed the cat train with a D.I. setting that was almost forty-five degrees in error.
The sudden realization of just how serious our position was made it very difficult to convert the position of the stars versus what I figured they should look like. Now there was no doubt, in my mind, we were far off our track for Johnston Point, so far in fact I knew we might never be found.
Time was now critical. We had to decide which watch was right. Making a quick position guess based on nothing but the time we had flown on this heading and instinct we turned ninety degrees to the right starting a slow cruise climb for better fuel burn. All we could do now was wait and hope.
In this part of the high Arctic, at night, there is absolutely nothing but endless white, to try to recognize any feature below you is hopeless. Now both of us were really worried, questions and doubts started. Whose watch was set wrong? Had we turned the right way? Why had we not noted the runway heading after landing? Why had we not written the heading down so as to be able to confirm our star shot? Why did we not check both of our watches, especially in that the clock in the airplane did not work which in these temperatures was normal? Radio reception was so poor we could not raise anyone on H.F. or V.H.F. then all of a sudden the A.D.F. came alive and there was the Johnston Point N.D.B. strait ahead. Soon we could see the lights of our destination on the horizon. For some time I had been quite concerned about our fuel state. Seeing the lights in the distance was just to good to be true. However, to be on the safe side we stayed at eleven thousand until we could definitely make the airport as distances can be so deceiving at night in the high Arctic.
Descending through one thousand feet the low fuel light came on telling us we had eleven minutes of fuel left in the front tank. I really don't remember how much fuel remained in the rear tank. Of course, how much fuel there was in the rear tank is now a mute point. It really doesn't matter, because like in Earnest Gann's great book "Fate is the Hunter", that night so many years ago the hunter did not find my young co-pilot, whose name I cannot even recall, and me. Had we turned left instead of right we would have been so far off course it is possible no one would have ever found the airplane or us in those millions of square miles of ice and snow. After landing and going into the Atco Huts, that were our accommodations, we finally found out it was my watch that was wrong. To this day I do not really know why I chose to make the decision it was my watch, even stranger the damn thing worked just fine after this what should have been an uneventful trip.
That just leaves fate as the best explanation for my decision to turn right that night. Isn't it strange how words like Arcturus, Missing Hours and Fate can have such chilling meaning when flying airplanes?
Arcturus, Missing Hours and Fate - By . .
Finally after over a week of just plain tough flying weather the stars came out and we would depart Johnston Point on Banks Island for what should be an easy flight. This flight would turn out to be remembered forever as one of the closest calls I have ever had in almost fifty years of flying. The year was 1975, late February. We were flying supplies to a cat train that was shooting seismic lines for oil exploration on Banks Island in the high Arctic.
Johnson Point, an oil exploration base camp with a paved runway, was the main airport for supplying the western Arctic. In these very high latitudes winter means total darkness for months and navigating in that very hostile environment is difficult at the best of times. We had just gotten our first twin otter equipped with a new navigation aid called Global Navigation System. G.N.S. was based on very low power radio transmitters located in various parts of the world. In order for the computer to be able to navigate it had to acquire at least three G.N.S. transmitters.
Latitude and longitude had to be entered, for both our departure and destination points, in the computer. This entry was done with little wheels to select the numbers and other information for each trip. A further limiting factor with G.N.S. was that we had to have accurate positions for the computer to navigate to wherever we set it. Cat trains are always on the move, consequently requiring a navigator with each train to take celestial shots whenever he could to accurately keep track of their new location.
Once the G.N.S. stations were acquired and the trip was set up it was so accurate we could fly several hundred miles and then return to our parking ramp at the airport without a hitch. To us G.N.S. was like having died and gone to heaven. Being able to navigate so accurately in the high Arctic, where the magnetic compass always points strait down, was a "god send". This particular trip to the seismic train was uneventful with no cloud cover at all just the stars from horizon to horizon. After the last week of flying all our trips from takeoff to landing on solid instruments while relying on two radar altimeters one in front of each pilot for our landing decision height this one had been easy. The only visibility restriction we had was the complete loss of forward visibility in the snow which blew up when we went into reverse to stop on the short runway, which had been ploughed for us, on the ice.
Sometimes these strips were not much over 1000 feet long due to the location of the cat train at that time therefore, reverse was a necessity to stop before we ran off the landing strip. With clear weather and no rush to get back to Johnson Point we went to the cookhouse, had a leisurely meal, listened to the tape recorder playing music such as North to Alaska, which we of course changed to South to Alaska. Finally, off to the airplane we went where we decided to hell with waiting to reset the G.N.S. Instead, with such a clear night, we would fly back to home base using the astro compass. After lighting up the two P.T.6's we taxied back to the runway and lined up with the flare pots. We got the almanac out and shot Arcturus. It is one of the easiest stars to identify and shoot due to its position and brightness in the sky. Arcturus is the first bright star out from the handle of the Big Dipper. We read our heading on the astro compass, set our direction indicators (gyros) and off we went for Johnston Point. Once leveled off in cruise there was nothing but the sound of the engines and the big canopy of stars that ended in a faint white blur which was the endless Arctic snow just barley visible below us in the faint starlight.
Sitting in the warm cockpit with only the sound of those dependable turbine engines and no sense of movement through the dark night I slowly became aware that something was wrong but could not quite figure out what it was. I remember asking the co-pilot to see if Johnson Point was showing up on the A.D.F. After a few minutes he had no luck, now I came wide awake and said, "This doesn't look right. Let's get another shot on Arcturus.". Once more I gave him the time and he read the almanac to set the astro compass. Again there was no change in our D.I. settings. All of a sudden a possibility came to me and I asked him what time he had. When he read his watch we both knew we were really in trouble as there was almost three hours difference between our watches. I will never forget the feeling of real fear when I realized that we had departed the cat train with a D.I. setting that was almost forty-five degrees in error.
The sudden realization of just how serious our position was made it very difficult to convert the position of the stars versus what I figured they should look like. Now there was no doubt, in my mind, we were far off our track for Johnston Point, so far in fact I knew we might never be found.
Time was now critical. We had to decide which watch was right. Making a quick position guess based on nothing but the time we had flown on this heading and instinct we turned ninety degrees to the right starting a slow cruise climb for better fuel burn. All we could do now was wait and hope.
In this part of the high Arctic, at night, there is absolutely nothing but endless white, to try to recognize any feature below you is hopeless. Now both of us were really worried, questions and doubts started. Whose watch was set wrong? Had we turned the right way? Why had we not noted the runway heading after landing? Why had we not written the heading down so as to be able to confirm our star shot? Why did we not check both of our watches, especially in that the clock in the airplane did not work which in these temperatures was normal? Radio reception was so poor we could not raise anyone on H.F. or V.H.F. then all of a sudden the A.D.F. came alive and there was the Johnston Point N.D.B. strait ahead. Soon we could see the lights of our destination on the horizon. For some time I had been quite concerned about our fuel state. Seeing the lights in the distance was just to good to be true. However, to be on the safe side we stayed at eleven thousand until we could definitely make the airport as distances can be so deceiving at night in the high Arctic.
Descending through one thousand feet the low fuel light came on telling us we had eleven minutes of fuel left in the front tank. I really don't remember how much fuel remained in the rear tank. Of course, how much fuel there was in the rear tank is now a mute point. It really doesn't matter, because like in Earnest Gann's great book "Fate is the Hunter", that night so many years ago the hunter did not find my young co-pilot, whose name I cannot even recall, and me. Had we turned left instead of right we would have been so far off course it is possible no one would have ever found the airplane or us in those millions of square miles of ice and snow. After landing and going into the Atco Huts, that were our accommodations, we finally found out it was my watch that was wrong. To this day I do not really know why I chose to make the decision it was my watch, even stranger the damn thing worked just fine after this what should have been an uneventful trip.
That just leaves fate as the best explanation for my decision to turn right that night. Isn't it strange how words like Arcturus, Missing Hours and Fate can have such chilling meaning when flying airplanes?
The hardest thing about flying is knowing when to say no
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
Re: DC3.
xsbank
If your still checking this thread I last saw CF-TFV in US registry working out of Miami FL in about 1992 hauling freight to some point in South America. It still looked pretty good then. It had to be one of the nicer DC-3s in the world when BCFP sold it.
Does anybody out there know where CF-TKX went after Regan Construction were finnished with it in Dawson Creek BC??
If your still checking this thread I last saw CF-TFV in US registry working out of Miami FL in about 1992 hauling freight to some point in South America. It still looked pretty good then. It had to be one of the nicer DC-3s in the world when BCFP sold it.
Does anybody out there know where CF-TKX went after Regan Construction were finnished with it in Dawson Creek BC??
Re: DC3.
Thanks xdriver. I often wondered if TFV was still around - I can still give myself a sleepless night thinking about some of our flights, all in the spirit of "git 'er done."
"What's it doing now?"
"Fly low and slow and throttle back in the turns."
"Fly low and slow and throttle back in the turns."
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Moose47
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Re: DC3.
xdriver -
CF - TFV ended up in Columbia as HK-3359X. It was with Transamazonica in December, 1987 and eventually withdrawn from use in 1997 at Villiavicencia, Colombia.
CF-TKX's history after leaving the Fort St. John-based Ragan Construction Limited is as follows:
Alberta Northern Airlines in 1975
Reindeer Air Services in 1975
Back to Alberta Northern Airlines also in 1975
Pem-Air Limited (Pembroke, Ontario) in 1976.
The Canadian civil aircraft registration was canceled in May, 1979.
It went to the U. S. and re-registered as N211Q with S. S. Airways. It eventually ended up in Colombia with S.A.E.P. Limited as HK-3031. It crashed near Bogota on the 8th of February, 1986. At approximately 12:00 hours, the No. 1 engine lost power. The prop was feathered while climbing out from Bogotá-Eldorado Airport. During a turn back to the runway, the wing tip struck the ground. A fire resulted from the impact. There were two crew and three pax onboard headed for Rondon Airport in Colombia at the time. Thankfully there were no fatalities. The aircraft was a write-off.
Incidentally, S.A.E.P. stands for Servicios Aeros Especializados en Transportes Petroleros.
Cheers...Chris
CF - TFV ended up in Columbia as HK-3359X. It was with Transamazonica in December, 1987 and eventually withdrawn from use in 1997 at Villiavicencia, Colombia.
CF-TKX's history after leaving the Fort St. John-based Ragan Construction Limited is as follows:
Alberta Northern Airlines in 1975
Reindeer Air Services in 1975
Back to Alberta Northern Airlines also in 1975
Pem-Air Limited (Pembroke, Ontario) in 1976.
The Canadian civil aircraft registration was canceled in May, 1979.
It went to the U. S. and re-registered as N211Q with S. S. Airways. It eventually ended up in Colombia with S.A.E.P. Limited as HK-3031. It crashed near Bogota on the 8th of February, 1986. At approximately 12:00 hours, the No. 1 engine lost power. The prop was feathered while climbing out from Bogotá-Eldorado Airport. During a turn back to the runway, the wing tip struck the ground. A fire resulted from the impact. There were two crew and three pax onboard headed for Rondon Airport in Colombia at the time. Thankfully there were no fatalities. The aircraft was a write-off.
Incidentally, S.A.E.P. stands for Servicios Aeros Especializados en Transportes Petroleros.
Cheers...Chris
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Meatservo
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Re: DC3.
., I enjoy that story every time I read it. Did you ever do a book, or a collection of short stories?
Funny how we can all appreciate the feeling of utter f*&Ked-uppedness you must have been experiencing as a result of something as pedestrian as a stopped watch. I've been in similarly dire circumstances for equally petty reasons, and I think this is why I feel a rift between myself and non flyers, especially the ones who like to use the phrase "glorified bus driver"... The opportunities to kill yourself over some every day little oversight greatly outweigh the opportunities to distinguish yourself... You as the pilot are the only one able to appreciate how much the people on your plane owe to your ability to pull a rabbit out of your hat at the last minute sometimes, and very likely the only one liable to care either...and I guess how thin the line is between being "that guy who screwed up and we all get to pick apart on AvCanada", and just being "a guy who gets to go to work again tomorrow"... Stories like yours remind me why I used to be proud to be a flyer...
Funny how we can all appreciate the feeling of utter f*&Ked-uppedness you must have been experiencing as a result of something as pedestrian as a stopped watch. I've been in similarly dire circumstances for equally petty reasons, and I think this is why I feel a rift between myself and non flyers, especially the ones who like to use the phrase "glorified bus driver"... The opportunities to kill yourself over some every day little oversight greatly outweigh the opportunities to distinguish yourself... You as the pilot are the only one able to appreciate how much the people on your plane owe to your ability to pull a rabbit out of your hat at the last minute sometimes, and very likely the only one liable to care either...and I guess how thin the line is between being "that guy who screwed up and we all get to pick apart on AvCanada", and just being "a guy who gets to go to work again tomorrow"... Stories like yours remind me why I used to be proud to be a flyer...
If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself
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Cat Driver
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Re: DC3.
Yeh I was in the process of starting a book of short stories but keep putting it off, the problem was every story I started reminded me of another exciting / frightening flight and my weak mind just collapsed.., I enjoy that story every time I read it. Did you ever do a book, or a collection of short stories?
So WTF here is one of the more mundane ones I wrote and never really edited properly.
The Highs and Lows of International Flying - By . .
I would like to share some of the experiences that I have had in my job as an international contract pilot with all the members of the Nanaimo Flying club. I am sure you will enjoy reading about the difficulties we have in the day to day flight planning and flying of these trips all over the world. Sometimes when dealing with the paperwork and paying all the outrageous charges we encounter I swear to god I will never do it again, then several months later I have forgotten that part and remember only the many sights, places and the people we have met on these trips.
I would like to offer some short stories for the N.F.C. monthly newsletter about the many flights I do in my job as a training and ferry pilot. Then maybe after reading these stories you will better understand my abhorrence of bureaucrat's and their mindless enforcement of rules. Then the next time you find me sitting around sounding like a nut case you will understand what drove me to this sad state of mind. The only difference here in Canada is that they do not intimidate you with guns. (Yet) In the last three years I have been to thirty-seven different countries in Europe, Africa. Asia and South America. It is interesting that of all these flights, outside of my regular Transport Canada Instrument flight check rides I have not filed one flight plan in North America for three years.
I will start with my last flight and work backwards for three years. On April 23/99 I received a call to ferry a French owned P.B.Y. Catalina from Sao Paulo Brazil to Oshawa Ont. For those of you not familiar with this type of airplane it is a twin engine heavy flyingboat. Some of its stats are as follows. Wingspan 104 feet All up weight 30500 lbs. Fuel capacity10500 lbs. Oil capacity 990 lbs. Will fly 20 plus hour's non-stop with full fuel I was to stop in Oshawa to pick up the journey log and a new battery for the airplane.
There were as usual delays and I did not depart Oshawa until Apr.27. I left Toronto at 10.00 p.m. and eleven hours later arrived Sao Paulo at 11.00 a.m. local time. After clearing customs and immigration with this big battery as part of my baggage I was met by a taxi driver holding a card with my name on it. He drove me into the city to the hotel that we stay at when in Sao Paulo, this was my fourth trip to Sao Paulo, and by then the desk staff knew me by name.
After a quick shower and change of clothes I went to Congonhas airport where the two engineers from England were checking the airplane for the ferry trip. These two engineers Clive and Mark Edwards have been part of our crew since 1996 starting in Africa where we did filming for the French Television company T.F.1 all over Africa.
The plan was to leave Sao Paulo the next day. On the following day after much wasted time with hydraulic problems we finally called for taxi clearance, I was advised that we had missed our slot and to call back in twenty minutes. When we next requested clearance we were advised the flight plan had been cancelled and we were to re. file. I had to file a V.F.R. flightplan as my Co-pilot pilot was the owner Franklin Devaux. He did not have an instrument rating, my regular Co-pilot pilot was not with us and this left me with the problem of how to depart an airport that was restricted to I.F.R. only.
We were expected to be at a military airbase north of Sao Paulo at 1P.M.for a publicity show connected with the Aeropostale Mail trip to S. America and there was a TV crew waiting. We had one of the military people with us so I had him contact air traffic control and he somehow got us a new clearance to depart Congonhas V.F.R. with an I.F.R. routing. The departure from this airport is quite interesting in that the airport is right in the center of the city and there are miles and miles of tall buildings in every direction. There are seventeen million people in the greater Sao Paulo area and this was the first time we actually got to see it as the four other times we departed Sao Paulo the weather was either I.M.C. or overcast so we didn't see much of the city and surrounding area. There was great difficulty in following the routing they requested as we were V.F.R. and I couldn't understand the place names the controllers wanted us to go to. I had the owner fly headings while I desperately searched the database in the GPS trying to find places that sounded like the names we were given.
Finally we were handed over to the military radar controller who spoke good English. This was the first attempt at flying V.F.R in South America and unlike the I.F.R. controllers these people were very difficult to understand, as they would seldom have to speak English with V.F.R. traffic.
The approach to Campo Fontenell was almost straight in to the right hand of two parallel runways. The airport is the main training center for the Brazilian Airforce and after the TV crews were finished we were given a tour of the base then a trip to town for dinner and free rooms for the night in the pilot barracks. The following morning we departed for Brazilia a short trip of three hundred and seventy nautical miles. The country is quite similar to Montana as it is in the highlands of central Brazil, Brasilia its self is thirty five hundred feet above sea level.
About an hour out of Brasilia the right engine started running rough it turned out to be on the left mag position. That was the first time the airplane had given us any problems in three years of flying. After landing we changed the plugs front to back to determine if it was plugs or the mag. There went our plans to spend the day touring Brasilia as by the time we finished working on the engine it was dark so we did not get to tour the city. Brasilia is the typical example of government stupidity. It was built in the middle of nowhere and is the most modern city in the world as it is only thirty-seven years old. The downside is there is nothing but government to support the city.
Sounds like B.C. and the idiots we have in government here. Day three started out good the weather was clear and we planned to fly the seven hundred and eighty nautical miles to Belem at the mouth of the Amazon River. That soon went to hell because while we were flightplanning I was asked to produce all the aircraft documents plus all our licenses. That was at seven A.M. After about thirty minutes I was told to go with two Federal police and was driven several miles to their station where I spent the next three hours trying to explain why I was flying in Brazil with an expired overflight permit. This was not the first time I have been detained by the police in these countries so after refusing to say anything until I had a good interpreter I played their game. I eventually convinced them that it was partially the fault of my company as they had the permit for four months in Oshawa.
Finally I signed a document admitting to being in contravention of Brazilian law. This resulted in a two thousand U.S. dollar fine and they issued me a new permit to exit Brazil by way of Belem in the next ten days. We now were into the worst part of the day for thunderstorms and sure enough were forced to land in a small town named Imperatrizon one of the thousands of rivers in the Amazon jungle. It was really a great experience to stay in a small town that far from civilization, not only was there not a decent hotel we couldn't even order food, as we of course could not find anyone who understood English or French. When our food did arrive, it was plain boiled spaghetti and bread and butter. Franklin the owner of the airplane was worried about malaria, as this is a really bad area for malaria.
The Edwards brothers and me have spent a lot of time in Africa so do not worry to much about tropical diseases, you either get it or you don't so why worry. The next morning was overcast at about five hundred feet so we took off and flew to Belem just above the jungle for about three hundred miles; it was one of the most fascinating flights I have ever done. The Amazon basin is so vast and diverse it is incredible, especially the flocks of bright coloured parrots we saw while flying at low level over the dense jungle. The shape and size of some of the trees is incredible no wonder it is so written about in books. We landed Belem and thanks to the help of the Brazilian airforce cleared customs paid our fees and managed to depart for Cayenne French Guyana just ahead of a major line of thunderstorms.
The flight to Cayenne was four and a half hours and was uneventful except for having to fly around several areas of thunderstorms, which is normal for that part of the world. We landed just before dark and spent the night in a very first class French hotel.
The following morning we went through the usual paperwork and payment routine and finally after four hours we were airborne for Fort De France Martinique via Paramaribo, Suriname. Georgetown, Guyana. Tobago, and Martinique. After departure we were given permission to circle Devils Island the French penal colony of Pappion fame in the book and movie.
After our tour of Devils Island were allowed to fly past the Aerian rocket center where France launches their satellite rockets it is very impressive, then we settled in for seven hours of boredom to Martinique or at least until we came to the island chain starting the windward group. On arrival Martinique we spent the night in another first class French hotel.
The following morning it was another three hours of paperwork fees and delays, finally at noon we were off for Grand Turk Island seven and a half hours away. The windward and leeward islands are really beautiful when viewed from the blisters of a P.B.Y. There is not a better airplane in the world to sightsee from than the P.B.Y. and as we fly with a crew of four we all get plenty of time for sightseeing. Before departure from Martinique we were given a notam that the volcano on Minstar was erupting and posed a danger to aircraft, as we flew past it we were offered a very close view of the activity during a large eruption, very impressive.
As we were passing the island of St. Martin the right engine once again started to run rough. After much discussion the decision was made to land at San Juan, Puerto Rico where we would have access to the airline flights from the U.S.A. to get our parts for the engine. This required us to ask permission to divert to San Juan due to engine problems, finally we were able to talk to American controllers, it was wonderful after all the problems with Portuguese, French, Dutch and Spanish controllers. It is of course true that airtraffic control is English all over the world it is just that some of them are hard to understand especially the Portuguese.
When we landed, I of course as the Captain of the aircraft had the privilege of writing the report of why we landed in a Country we were not flightplanned to, then fill out all the forms for Customs and immigration. After this was finished I returned to immigration only to find that the Edwards brothers visa for the U.S. was expired.This of course required another hour of paperwork and the magic of several hundred dollars and we were free to go park the airplane in an area where we could fix it. At last well after dark we checked into a hotel. Many phone calls and much work later we had a new mag and new plugs installed in the engine and after two and a half days we were ready to continue.
The following morning severe weather on our intended route forced us to wait for an improvement. Franklin then decided he must leave for Paris as he had a very important meeting to attend. He decided to leave the airplane in San Juan and we would pick it up later. So Franklin left for Paris and Mark, Clive and I flew to Miami, They made a connection to London and I had to overnight Miami. The following morning I was on Air Canada for Vancouver via Toronto. So ended another international ferry flight. There are of course many more things that go into this type of flying such as the thousands of gallons of fuel that we pump into the tanks during the trip, we try to fuel up as soon as we land and clear customs and immigration no matter how long it takes as we know that the next morning will be spent going through the paper work, payment of fees and customs and immigration nightmare that one finds in every country on earth some worse than others. If all you people want me to take you from Paris to Santiago next month let John know. The routing was Paris via Spain, Morocco, Mauritania, Senegal, Fernando de Noronha, Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina and Chile. The trip was the Aeropostal mail route that France used fifty years ago. We flew it to celebrate one hundred years of aviation in France.
Then if you have not had enough I can take you on a tour of Africa flying for the French TV Company TF1 it was the most challenging and dangerous flying I have ever done with everything from Desert sand storms, to monstrous thunderstorms to filming in a war zone in the Sahara Desert and living with the Nomads for several weeks.
The hardest thing about flying is knowing when to say no
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
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Siddley Hawker
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Meatservo
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- Location: Negative sequencial vortex
Re: DC3.
I always thought an interesting idea for a book would be a compilation of all the letters I've ever had to write to either apologise for something I said to (or threw at) a passenger, explain my behaviour, or respond to an unusual circumstance or unfounded accusation. There are a lot of them, spanning almost twenty years of flying. Accompanied by diagrams, cartoons, and photos, it could be a pretty funny book. I'm going to wait another twenty years and then get started.
If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'd have taken better care of myself
Re: DC3.
viewtopic.php?f=54&t=62738Siddley Hawker wrote:Great story Cat, keep 'em coming.
I think Cat should start his own thread. This is a DC3 thread not a story telling thread.
So far he has told us a twin otter story and a canso story.
There is no substitute for BIG JUGS!!
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Cat Driver
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Re: DC3.
You should complain to the moderators or the owner of the forum if you don't like the way I post in a thread I started bigsky.
I think Cat should start his own thread. This is a DC3 thread not a story telling thread.
So far he has told us a twin otter story and a canso story.
viewtopic.php?f=54&t=62738
Or better still why don't you post a story about your own DC3 experiences?
By the way I have a DC3 story in MS word that I am working on but I am going to defer to you.....the thread is all yours bigsky.
You are sure it was a Canso? Maybe it was a Catalina.So far he has told us a twin otter story and a canso story.
And maybe I should just ignore posts like yours and not get irritated by them?
Anyhow this thread is all yours hero, have at it.
Last edited by Cat Driver on Tue Mar 02, 2010 5:15 pm, edited 2 times in total.
The hardest thing about flying is knowing when to say no
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
Re: DC3.
Well, it is a story telling thread too ... ., how would you feel about the stories being moved into new and individual threads over here:bigsky wrote:This is a DC3 thread not a story telling thread.
???Around the Camp Fire
This forum is for all you story tellers to have a place to tell us your adventures like Duke Elegant once did.
That would make them easier to find, and forever preserved ... just like Duke's stories. Might even remind people that the subforum exists and get a few other story tellers a tellin'!
Former Advocate for Floatplane Safety
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Cat Driver
- Top Poster
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- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2004 8:31 pm
Re: DC3.
The only problem with putting stories there widow is most forum readers seldom visit those sites but they all go right to the general forum.
But don't worry about my input here because I'm only one of hundreds who post on the forum.
But don't worry about my input here because I'm only one of hundreds who post on the forum.
The hardest thing about flying is knowing when to say no
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
Re: DC3.
I know that I like the camp fire idea... but then, I push that wee "View new posts" link at the top of the page so I see everything that's been added in all of the categories 'cuz I'm lazy. 
Re: DC3.
Me too CD ...
Hope you don't mind ., I've copied the stories into the other forum too (under your name) ... and inserted the links into your posts above.
Noticed another DC3 story while I was in there too ...
Lambair DC-3
Hope you don't mind ., I've copied the stories into the other forum too (under your name) ... and inserted the links into your posts above.
Noticed another DC3 story while I was in there too ...
Lambair DC-3
Former Advocate for Floatplane Safety
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Cat Driver
- Top Poster
- Posts: 18921
- Joined: Sun Feb 15, 2004 8:31 pm
Re: DC3.
No problem as far as I am concerned widow. 
The hardest thing about flying is knowing when to say no
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
After over a half a century of flying no one ever died because of my decision not to fly.
