Page#7 Tales of an Old Aviator...The Big Chill

Post by **avcanada** » Fri Feb 20, 2004 3:08 pm

Author Tales of an Old Aviator...The Big Chill
Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-08 13:29
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I flew North from Sydney along the beaches of New South Wales and into Queensland , my home state.

It was a threesome ..VH-BPW , Heidi ...and me. The light bumpy air made her tits jiggle so.

Up along the Barrier Reefs sparkling like fire opals and emerelds .. over the hundreds of miles of cattle country .. the endless sugar cane fields and still North along the jungle draped coast... and across the straight between Thursday Island and Daru , on the Southern Coast of Papua New Guinea.

Now, the rugged and wild beauty did offer solace .... I had two throaty Lycomings taking me back to a country where they turned back time.

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Brian

Joined: Nov 22, 2001
Posts: 722
From: From: From: ^C
Posted: 2003-10-08 13:38
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Superb writing - no wonder, you've got something to say You are putting this material together for a book, aren't you?

P.S. Am I the only person that got a hard-on reading Duke's last 2 postings? I'm willing to admit I'm a pervert - large-brea$ted women in skimpy uniforms on roller skates wearing Mickey Mouse ears do turn me on.

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Charles W.

Joined: Feb 14, 2003
Posts: 5
From: Vancouver Island
Posted: 2003-10-08 18:19
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Brian:

Many years ago when I was in Santiago, Chile flying for the military junta, there was this house of exotic pleasure that had a sheep with no teeth, what would that do for you?

Hey Duke, you ever experienced something like that?

Cat Driver

[ This Message was edited by: Charles W. on 2003-10-08 18:21 ]

[ This Message was edited by: Charles W. on 2003-10-08 19:12 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-11 14:47
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I was very honoured to be at the private dinner at the high end Pan Pacific Hotel. It was hosted by Senator Pat Carney and some people of note from Ottawa , none of whom I can remember. It was 1994.

There were two of us , to be shown appreciation for our efforts. I was outclassed by the other individual for sure.
He was Don Graham , an unsung hero to whom all we aviators owe a debt of gratitude.

And to Senator Carney , too, for she battled in Ottawa on behalf of Aviators and Mariners of the brutal West Coast of Canada.

Wednesday , October 8.
A lightkeeper for seventeen years at the landmark red and white tower at the treacherous confluence of Howe Sound and Burrard Inlet, well, Don died within sight of the seascape which inspired him.

He was 56 years old. He succumbed to pancreatic cancer.

He had recieved the Queens Silver Jubilee Medal from the Senator this past summer.

During '96/'97 we were conjoined in a fight, he on behalf of Mariners and I from the Aviation Industry and backed heavilly by Pat Carney in Ottawa , who, it turns out, had a son flying floats on the west Coast.

He had also written two books , Keepers of the Light and Lights of the inside passage. He kept the stories and history alive before they were awash in time.

For a paltry savings of a mere $1.8 Million , Ottawa hung the lives of fishermen, pilots , barge crews and all maritime personel on an untested automated system that had not yet been programmed to hear cries for help.

They had sent a snivelling, lying bureaucat to hold bogus "town meetings" to listen to the locals. I didn't like him the moment I set eyes on him ... his eyes were way too close together.
He had obviously screwed up in Ottawa as this weasel took punishment from those of us who followed his slimy trail from town to town, up and down the coast. His shoulders slumped in every town when Don and I showed up ... incessantly in his lying rat like face.
The Fifth Estate recorded it all .. the Government, you see , had already made up their tiny minds. They were closing lighthouses during this fake tour.

I was flying a Turbo Beaver on amphibs at the time and flew the outer coast of Vancouver Island. Sure, sometimes I had the pleasure of alighting upon the waters of some divinely remote place of beauty but just as often , to be chased into an inlet by big, black wet storms .. a place of refuge .. as the tugs, barges, fishing boats scurried for cover. Lighthouse information was treasured ..Egg Island for instance .. we would read quickly through ceilings, wind speed and visibility information to the bottom . Remarks: Fog on SE horizon. Auto stations looked straight up ... we shared something with these humans holed up on a remote sea thrashed island for about twenty one grand a year.

One day , when I make the final journey, I hope I can be guided by the light of Don Graham.

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Cat Driver

Joined: Feb 15, 2003
Posts: 1194 Posted: 2003-10-11 15:05
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Yeh, Duke I remember that being on TV. You at least had the balls to stand up for the rest of us......Thanks...

Ever heard the saying, scum rises to the top? Seems to hold true for these guys.

I am beginning go regret having tried to work within the law and the rules when I see how our Government officials screw us over.

However there is still time for me to correct my way of doing things.

When the hell are you coming over to get some more upgrading of your flying skills? hell I'll teach you how to really fly if you can re program my stupidity in trying to stay within the rules........

Cat

[ This Message was edited by: Cat Driver on 2003-10-11 15:06 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-12 10:06
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I am going to wrap up the New Guinea portion of my narrative in one story having told maybe a tenth of the total adventure.

March 1972

I cruised high above the mouth of the Fly and above Kikori too. I could see North , maybe a hundred miles or so, to the awesome spine of this rugged , but luscious country. I could just see the white speck of the Baimuru Hotel , conjouring up scenes in my mind , like a Bogart movie ... Casablanca .. African Queen ...

Behind me , in Australia was a career that I had left at the alter. Uniforms, rules, checklists, overnights in the same place for the thirtieth time this year...how many times would I have to sit in the right seat .. Brisbane-Sydney-Melbourne..... Melbourne- Sydney - Brisbane ... and so on .. and on..
In the right seat .. looking left to a bored guy I didn't really like .. and then twenty years later ... left seat looking right to a boring guy I didn't really like....
I didn't want to look ahead twenty years as I had done in the Army. As a young well schooled and skilled Lieutenant, I walked into the Officers mess at lunch time. There at the bar were grumpy old Majors hunched over their drinks at the bar all sharing bulbous scotch soaked red noses .. expressionless ... they didn't like we youngin's...

Not for me ...
I had to satisfy the hunger in my soul.
The smooth , throbbing Lycomings took me to the heart and very soul of this mysterious land ... The Land Where They Turned Back Time.

Behind my left wing now, was Kikori . I had been there with Maurie Young , a mercenary Canadian art dealer and procurer for a musuem in New York or anybody else ... whoever had the dough.
Instead of me waiting in the villiage for his canoe flotilla to return bearing heaps of artifacts , he invited me along in the long thin hollowed log canoe to which was attatched a long shafted Seagull outboard.
These canoes only had a slit in which to put your feet , one behind the other .. they rolled easilly and required balance .
Up river we sped .. wakeless .. slicing through the muddy brown Kikori river .. up to a villiage rumoured to have an Agiba , a skull rack... painted and decorated skulls on a series of posts in ascending order, depending on the importance of these slain enemies the bodies of whom would have been eaten. Maurie and I were hunkered down for balance and I got an urge to stand up like our helmsmen. I wobbled drunkenly to my feet and stood at last, the stale dank air against my sweating face.
We came around a bend in the river .....
I gasped at the sight...

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-12 10:24
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Also rounding the bend and speeding downriver was a war canoe.... the paddlers stabbing at the water to a menacing war chant ... . all in perfect unison ... they were all feathered and painted up with spears and bows across their backs .. they stood upright ... a question of balance. They too, saw a a sight. A crazy white man standing in the forward part of the canoe... arms stretched outwards like wings ... they faltered .. and looked .. only to be barked at by the coxwain .. and they returned to the rythmic chants. It was from their villiage that Maurie tried to buy their Agiba. These people frightened me... the elders held out on the Agiba .. I got to see it. Maurie filled the freighter canoe with purchased artifacts and we sped downstream back to the Cessna 182.

More to follow.. am off to the airport for coffee and bullsh*t.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-12 14:13
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Maybe an hour out of Goroka ... abeam Karimui, where we had a trade store, and where I had made the legless man dance ....flying higher and more effortlessly than I had in the Cessna ... to Paradise. The Bird of Paradise , that is , the pub.

In this Shrine of Aviation , bullshit was the intellectual mainstay of the era. But I had a new whore and I was proud.

The next two years of flying were spectacular ... dipping down into the mouth of the extinct volcano on Lab Lab island , flying down a chain of islands , strung like pearls , down to the Solomons .. and Guadacanal , a scene from World War II where we explored wreckages of Hellcats , Corsairs , zeros and half submerged landing craft , peppered with bullet holes.
Wow! A TBM Avenger ...one day I would fly one of these.

I smuggled dogs , chicken eggs and of course , croc skins. The dog smuggling had earned a new knickname for the old Aztec , Bravo Papa Woof.
Most of the hosties at the mess knew of my deeds , I told them so. I traded tales of daring doo for passionate interludes.

But one day, I saw a vision.

I had been summoned to the airport by the Operations Manager of Territory Airlines , and, says he "You won't believe what you will see."

She strolled the lawn at the terminal ... in a silky dress flowing like a watercolour in the rain .. but you could see through it .. just enough. And a flower in her hair .. a backpack .. and a smile. The cautious but gathering crowd of natives could see through it too ... and I sensed danger ... she had to be saved .. and Gadzooks!!! .. the Duke was for once in the right place at the right time.
"You can't stay here." says I, as I dare to touch this flowering Goddess on the arm to lead her away to my Land Rover."Where are you from?" I ask .. gulping as I catch a glimpse of a nipple perched at the end of a shapely little brown ski-jump shaped breast... "The Year of The Cat" she whispers .. a brown leg escaping through a slit in the Thai-dyed hippie dress, as she glides into the Land Rover.
"Come with me , child." says the Duke.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-10-12 14:40 ]

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co-joe

Joined: Jun 12, 2003
Posts: 893
From: a town by the lake
Posted: 2003-10-12 16:01
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Quote:
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In the right seat .. looking left to a bored guy I didn't really like .. and then twenty years later ... left seat looking right to a boring guy I didn't really like....

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Uh Oh, I thinks that's where I am, and where I am heading.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-14 10:51
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I sit here with a picture of Baby Jane in my hands. Baby Jane .. at least I had revealed her name. I had learned some of her language too , like "far out" and "coool."

I did not, however , find out the location of the planet from which she came.

The picture shows us at the summit of the Daulo Pass , a very dangerous place to be but this flower child was oblivious to the stares of the Chimbu warriors. She waved flowers at them all with a large dimpled smile that would make a strong man lose his mind.

She may have been a "toad licker" from Kuranda. They were a group of hippies that discovered that by licking the poisonous glands on the back of a toad , interplanetary travel became possible , and cheap too.

Here comes the missus ... gotta cover me tracks .. . and hide the picture ... drives her nuts.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-10-14 11:16 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-14 13:48
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I had learned the Rules of Business very quickly in New Guinea.

1. Winner takes all
2. Every man for himself
3. Spend big when you have heaps ....

So I did ....and I learned how to deal the Jack from the back of the pack. But there were times that bought you down to earth .. and back in time.

The biggest event of the year was the Goroka Sing Sing. They came by the thousands, some walking for a week from remote villages. It was a four day walk up to 8000 feet just to cross the Daulo Pass. It was a four hour drive to cross, and , as my log book shows , a thirteen minute flight. They came to compete for the prize , a herd of cattle.

It was an event that drummed into your soul ..never to be forgotten.

We whiteys were outnumbered one hundred to one. We did not fear these people for the most part as they could hardly unite to overthrow the government because the seven hundred tribes were small and didn't like each other.

They took up to a day to prepare ... spectacular Bird of Paradise head - dresses. The Whagi wigmen adorned in their human hair anvil shaped wigs and carved bone nose pieces... the Asoro mud men , in their oversize , white mud helmets and pasted with a mixtute of white ash and mud .. and the Kuku Kuku s .. they were small bark cloaked warriors ... the most feared of all.
All the women struggled about with heavy loads in their Bilum bags on their swayed backs , supported by the forehead. Loads of kids, sweet potatos and pigs to trade , or eat on the road to the show.

And what a show it was.

We sat in the makeshift bleachers with the local constabulary close at hand. They were there not to protect us .. they were scared.

Shrill postmen's whistles gather a tribe for their turn for the dance past and judging ... amid shouts and chants of excitement. They shuffled into lines of maybe ten and held the long bamboo poles to keep the lines spaced. Ten rows ... all identically adorned and painted in their tribal markings. The drumming started , the war chants sent the shiver up my spine .. a warm shiver .

They approach .. pounding the snakeskin kundu drums .. earth trembling as they drive their feet into the ground when orchestrated to do so. Dust rising , except where the patches of blood red betel nut had been spat ... like blood .. everywhere.
With the unison of a choir their voices rise up to a crescendo then down to imitate the drumbeats .. pounding .. a hundred warriors only feet away ..spears , bows and arrows .. I can smell them now .. not unpleasant ... a pig grease and smoke mixture. Two pounding steps forward , one back ..they are in a trance ... so am I.
Then came the Kainantu's and the Bena Benas and the tribe from Bhundi and Marawaka ..

We lived a luxurious lifestyle. Lobsters , fish and fresh produce , mostly free. Exotic cars and a change of girlfriend every six months as the flight attendants rotated through the New Guinea adventure. Often we would get ten or so girls to deadhead to Goroka from Lae and float down the Bena Bena river on rafts, through the villiages , to a BBQ already set up by our house boys downstream at the waterfall.
OOOOH! How moist they got.
I witnessed tribal fights and marriage feasts where 200 pigs were slaughtered with glee. Trips up to Angoram where people lived in grass houses perched on stilts out over the river...
Once we chartered a DC3 and filled 'er up with hosties and a jazz band and went to a plantation Ball .. they entertained us enroute.
But a dark political cloud loomed on the horizon. They were to be given independance and ALL companies had to have "native participation". The red necks called the natives rock apes which I found to be offensive. If I was to have a partner , he was to be my "branch manager".
The feds were closing in on me too ... it was time to flee.

I will never forget the day of my departure .. to South Africa .. or Canada .. somewhere where flying was still an adventure.
I drove a friends Land Rover to the airport. Coming the other peddalling fast on his bike was my houseboy , Bin.
As soon as he saw my face he bailed from the bike leaving it to crash into the market ..
he wailed and cried. I quickly took off my watch and gave it to him .. I would miss him dearly. He had taught the language to me.

I settled into my seat on the F27 after a hearty send-off from my friends. Next to me was a Bena Bena girl. She wore a Meri dress and I saw her blue tribal markings fanning back from her eyes to her tight curly hairline. I waved at my friends , then turned to her.
"Yupella go long bigpella harp long balus long Port Moresby?" I had asked if she was going to Port Moresby on this plane. I waited for her Pidgin reply.
"No actually," she said in well bred perfect English, "I am going to Melbourne, back to Monash University." She flashed a large pearly smile to difuse my indiscretion.
We chatted excitedly as Meg Taylor informed me of her intention, to become a lawyer.

Years later her picture appeared on the cover of National Geographic , playing polo. She was New Guinea's first woman lawyer.
And later yet. I was flying a Turbo Beaver for a logging company in Canada that was to get a visit from New Guinea's US Ambassador.. Meg Taylor.

I left that land astern.
The Country Where They Turned Back Time.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-10-14 13:57 ]

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Sky High

Joined: Oct 14, 2003
Posts: 2 Posted: 2003-10-14 14:41
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Amazing. You definitely have a way with words. Of which I'm hanging on every one awaiting the next installment.

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Cowboy McLoskey

Joined: Sep 24, 2003
Posts: 128 Posted: 2003-10-17 18:06
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Good luck Duke.. I'm looking forward to the next installment..

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FSS

Joined: Oct 18, 2003
Posts: 15
From: Prairies
Posted: 2003-10-19 08:41
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Howdy Duke, really enjoy your stories, spent over 15 years in northern postings back in 60's and 70's and I tell the "other people" some of the stories of that time which they sometimes find hard to believe and I didn't have to BS neither, (well maybe a little bit).
Duke, may all the ice in your life come in tall glasses.
Keep alert, watch for other aircraft.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-20 13:54
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THE SEVENTH REDEMPTION OF DUKE ELEGANT.

Provincetown , Cape Cod. USA

I dared not lean too hard on the railing of the Widow's Walk perched atop the Inn at Lands End. The wind had abated over the last few days .. now a steady breeze against my back .. but still softly moaning about the Inn. I gazed North East .. out over the Atlantic ... from whence I'd come. A blank stare . . somewhat akin to the stare of a widow looking seaward .. awaiting the sighting of a ship bearing their loved ones , Captains and sailors both. It is said that after the burial of a sailor , the widow would still stroll the Walk , in search of a lost soul ..maybe their own.
I had quantified the event that had brought me here , after all , it had a beginning and an end.
Or did it?

I descended the walk and retired to the quiet , elegantly cluttered drawing room , about which the queer staff shuffled and cleaned house all to the sound of intoxicating soft music. They made sure not to disturb the pilot sitting at the bay window .... he had lots on his mind.

"Tea , sir?" The gentle human put down the tray and retreated.

The solace of the moment was shattered by a replay of the event , two days ago , out over the cold Atlantic , streaked with wind on a cruel blue day.
The event had spawned a change in the Old Aviator a life change. … a redemption.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-10-20 14:07 ]

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jumperdumper

Joined: Sep 09, 2003
Posts: 17 Posted: 2003-10-20 15:17
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Ahh old buddy, i just came across this thread today had no idea what you been upto. Sorry about the call the other day, bad timing just like staying in touch. That big day is coming up, Nov 28th. Happy lobster day!! the day before my birthday. Wow could you imagine what my tombstone whould have read? if we didn't make it that day over the atlantic? Im still throwing live things outta airplanes these days. I could never tell a story the way you do but i remember that day clear as a bell!!
He didn't tell you guys we ate Lobster and drank all night, we made friends very easily after the CNN spot on our emerg landing aired in the bar. ie:Wendy windsurfer (cougar)and company.
The entire emerg response crew ate lobster that night cause they had no idea how many boxes of lobster i had tossed out. i have the pics from that day i should upload for all to see.
What a day!!!

Best of luck with everything!!

[ This Message was edited by: jumperdumper on 2003-10-20 15:26 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-20 18:01
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Slaz , me man , convincing parachutists to exit a King Air jump plane pales in comparison to your feverish lobster throwing marathon.

I think you disposed of 5000lbs and we landed with four thousand if I remember correctly..... yeah! a Bandierente load , remember?
And feast they did.. The emergency crew were pelted with live lobsters from a VERY thankful crew .

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-20 18:32
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Anyhow.

The right engine roared at Max Extended Take Off Power. It was doing the work of two engines , one having failed due to a broken crankshaft leaving us with a windmilling propeller requiring full control deflection in order to keep the aircraft flying straight .. it flew askew however. Slow too .. . a mere 110 knots ..forty minutes of airtime .. fighting the odds. All three of us had the same bet placed on our destiny.

To this day , I count my blessings , the most important of which was the crew onboard that day.

They had whiskers.

There are no two other people on earth that I would have rather have had aboard that day.
I remember levelling at sixteen hundred feet .. right engine controlled by Les Putland ... showing no fear.
We saw the beach ahead and advised Boston of our plan to ditch on the beach , but , upon arrival we were tempted with a glimpse of the airport at Provincetown , a mere five miles away. We were unanimous , and touched down on the short runway covered in oil and a hole in the tail you could poke your melon into.

Robert Slaz and I went for a long walk in the sand dunes .. Captain Les Putland did all the work ... like Immigration , Customs , FAA , company dispatch and arranging a plane to deliver the remaining four thousand pounds.
So we feast on lobster .. heaps and heaps ... booze too.
We are warned that this is the g-ay capitol of the NW USA. "So don't go to the Ramrod" we were warned , "or the Pink Pussycat too".
So to the Governor Bradford we went , a straight bar in the middle of downtown.

Just the three of us at a table near the bar .. we re -flew the trip ... had I made an error ... what could we have done differently? We came to the conclusion that we would have changed nothing. As Les was at the bar recharging our drinks, right there on Boston TV ... CNN... us... the helicopter had taken footage of our landing so we leap to our feet shouting, pointing at the TV .. drunk...happy ... alive.
Immediately, we are celebreties ... showing no fear. Slaz sees a young goddess enter..." she's mine " .. and so it was.
And a cougar with her ... a thirty five year old mini-skirted goddess , Wendy the Windsurfer.....mine.
Long into the night we partied.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-20 20:01
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AAAAAHHHH SH*T!!!!!!!!
Over an hour I wrote........ then I was asked for my userneme and password ... lost it all.........
PISSED OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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jumperdumper

Joined: Sep 09, 2003
Posts: 17 Posted: 2003-10-21 05:27
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Les cut and paste from word for the long stories to avoid grief

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jumperdumper

Joined: Sep 09, 2003
Posts: 17 Posted: 2003-10-21 11:43
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...yes feverishly, good way to descirbe it. I remember that 1st bang, a overwhelming feeling of vulnerability. The reality of the situation never sank in untill we walked the dunes.
I remember seeing the feather button still pushed in as we all tried to determine why it hadn't feathered. Thats when i realized the fire hazard and that the feather pump hadn't done its job. Ok now what i thought? stay calm mainly, relax. The wings where still there, we are still flying, this wasn't my 1st engine failure, we can make it. Then Les P announced we where loosing altitude and would probably have to ditch. I personnally thought "@#$! that" with 40 footswells and frigid Atlantic water below. I knew even if we did survive the water landing there was no way we would survive the water unless the helicopter was right there to pluck us out. I wasn't about to put my life jacket on yet.
We had joked early in the month about tossing the lobster out if we lost 1 out over the water. Self fulfilling prophecy. I mentioned i would be throwing them out the parachute door. (There is a door in side a door that you can open into the airplane in flight) but never thought it would come to that.
At that piont after we all realized the consequences of the situtaion, i requested permision to start shedding weight. Permision granted!
I went back to an airplane full of styrofoam boxes at 50 lbs each stacked to the roof. Where do i start? The door. I went to the back of the airplane and started working the handles. Got 3 of 4 but the last 1 didn't move, i was really yanking on it when i realized if i get this open will i fall out? Change of plan. I remembered the guys talking about the old owner of the airplane and how on a flight he had to hold the emerg exit closed after it wouldnt stay shut. So i figured the exit window was a write-off. gone into the ocean, as i open it it stayed attached to my surprise. I started unstrapping the cargo closest to the window, grabed the 1st box and tried the window, "hope it fits" as the window looked about the same size as the box. but through it went: just! I didnt need to use the parachute door! I kept a steady pace on the 1st skid but as i had to move further away to grab a box i began to get tired. I had been throwing 50lb boxes of sqeeking lobster out for the last 20 minutes. I watched the ocean get bigger as the boxes broke apart in the prop blast. I could see the lobsters falling away with the elastics still around there claws. Perfect arch! I doubt they would survive hitting the water at 100 mph=fish food. I wanted to stop but i didnt, i couldn't. I was trying to safe our lives by making us lighter. It was our only choice. I even consider throwing out the pallet jack. I remember getting called by the Les's and i went up to the cockpit, Land ahead! Alright! I put myheadset on to hear we where heading for Provincetown, on the tip of Cape Cod. As we approached land i could see the Hummers on the beach racing toward the airport. I didnt sit down untill we where over the numbers. A beautiful landing! We rolled to a stop, the left prop still windmilling while the right one, the good one, was already stopped. As i opened the door and put the stairs down i was greeted by Provincetowns finest. Fire trucks and amblunces, police hummers. We sure caused a event in this small little town. After we moved the airplane and an external view of the engine was done. We could finally relax. and thats when it all starts to sink in....WOW i could have died! But we didn't. I remember the heart to heart i had with Les on the dunes, and how we both realized how petty some thing can be and vowed never to let small things bother us. I live my life like that now, cause till you been there you'll never understand how fragile life is........ ....but i will not tip toe through life to arrive at death safely.

[ This Message was edited by: jumperdumper on 2003-10-21 11:48 ]

[ This Message was edited by: jumperdumper on 2003-10-21 12:08 ]

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-21 11:56
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Outstanding , my son , very well written!

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Desk Jockey

Joined: Oct 21, 2003
Posts: 21 Posted: 2003-10-21 13:38
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Duke,

I can't say enough about your stories, other than keep them up.
Would you mind if I added them to our newsletter / I'd like to share them with some of our new students.

Re the Big "C", never give up!
All the best!!!

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-22 10:09
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Robert , I remember the Hummers had baggy half inflated tires . The rescue teams had let out the air to make them handle the sand dunes. They had been sent to the beach upon which we had initially planned to ditch. I remember you pelting them with lobsters.

Story on the way.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-22 22:03
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Today I nearly finished an important story but got a visit from an old fire bombing mate who took me to the airport and filled me with free grog.

We had a lot of laughs.

1999 or y2k can't remember which year.

One of the tanker pilots was Jimmy. He was a man of ample girth. A few years before we had nicknamed him Sir Lunchalot.

So Jimmy decided to visit the desert bar less frequently .. and he started riding his bike. But we still picked on him .. that's what bored tanker pilots do.

One evening , our lanky engineer , Joe took Jimmy's flight suit to town and had a seamstress take in an inch or so from the waist and put it back in Jims locker. Well the fire bell goes and Jim donned his flightsuit with a little difficulty whilst exclaiming, "Jeez , I've been peddlin' my fat arse up that hill and givin' up desert and look , I'm still gaining."

Nobody let on as we scrambled to our bombers.

A few days later , Joe took the flightsuit to town for some more modification. Fire bell rings. Sh*t! You should have seen Jims face .. red as a baboons ass... strugling into the lean suit.... "Christ! I'm up to ten miles a day on the bloody bike .. and I'm eatin' like freekin' Ghandi."

Well! That was it .. we all lost it... laughing as we ambled to the bombers.

Jimmy had been had.

[ This Message was edited by: Duke Elegant on 2003-10-22 22:05 ]

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R-985

Joined: Jan 17, 2002
Posts: 142
From: Canada
Posted: 2003-10-22 22:03
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Just keepin this one on page one.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-22 22:43
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R-985 .... thanks ... I get grumpy when my page goes to page 2.

See , after a few beers you can't shut me up.

I was in aviation heaven . RAAF Point Cook in Australia ... Basic Flying Training School. We flew the Winjeel , a fully aerobatic trainer powered by the P&W R-985.
For aerobatics we would set 2000RPM and thirty inches of boost and would just leave it there for loops , slow rolls , barrel rolls where power was not a factor. An upward roll with a hammer head off the top required pulling the throttle to idle as you carved through 45 degrees with some popping and banging .. OOOoooohhhh! So totally orgasmic. Military training , you can't beat it. I went solo in six hours and forty five minutes. For the 25 hour test we had to do a loop and a roll ... didn't have to be pretty but we became very adept in the manipulation of the controls in a VERY short time. I cannot remember any stories of engine failures in that mighty little engine , but I assume there were some. They flew about three hours a day .. most of the year.

There was , however , a great story in the archives. In the days of the Tiger Moth.
These were modern airplanes then and actually had radios.
One fine sunny day , a student experiences an engine failure and had no problem deadsticking the airplane into a medium sized farmers field after transmitting a mayday call and advising his location.

An instructor was dispatched to see if he had made it onto the ground and if so, bring him back.
The student senses danger and is bright enough to deduce that the instructor may not have enough room to land due to the presence of his stricken machine.
So he opens a gate and , by the tail , he drags it into the smaller adjacent field and awaits the instructor.
Overhead soars the instructor gazing below at the incredible feat that the fledgling aviator had achieved in that small field but why hadn't he chosen the larger field? , thinks the intrepid birdman. Well , Hell! If he can do it so can I and skillfully guides his craft to the scene of the crash ... rolled 'er up in a ball as they say , two airplanes that is. They tangled wingtips and cartwheeld into the fence at the end of the field.

Monkey see , Monkey do. heh!heh!heh!

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-25 16:21
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Not many people get to see Mt Slesse , known around here as Slesse Peak.

It is a beautiful day here in Chilliwack.

I am now looking at the Peak out of my upstairs window and typing at the same time. It is sunbathed against a pale blue sky. Jagged , if you will. Steep , very steep. Impressive , like the Matterhorn.
It sure stands alone amongst the surrounding mountains and peaks.

One dark , rainy , snowy , ICY night a Northstar airliner slammed into it killing all souls aboard.

From that moment on it became a tombstone.

The bodies were never recovered as climbing to the wreckage was nearly impossible.

It sure is a beautiful sight from here.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-25 17:24
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That night , the Captain had a lot on his mind .... he knew he was in trouble.
Ice.
And a failing engine.

I wonder how his day started out?

He was probably a normal bloke.

Like you and me.

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Duke Elegant

Joined: Nov 28, 2002
Posts: 264 Posted: 2003-10-25 18:17
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I believe that the bulk of the passengers (both literally and figuritively) were a CFL football team.

I wonder if they had won ..... or lost?

The flight attendants ... I wonder if they were allowed to be married back then.
Were they pretty ... or not?
Were they unionized?

I wonder if the Captain and the co-pilot really liked the Canadian built Northstar.... with its four Rolls Royce Merlins snarling away with tongues of blue flame stabbing the darkness.

They were professionals , that's for sure.

They were well trained.

For how long were they fearful? They were in the turn ... back to Vancouver.