Please help an Ozzie pilot
Hello Mate,
I am writing to you because I need your help to get me pilot's
licence back. You keep telling me you got all the right contacts. Well
now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate, I'm
really. But first, I'd better tell you what happened during
my last flight review with the CASA (Civil Avaition) Examiner
On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA Bloke) seemed a reasonable sort
of a bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review
every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my
property and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to
that.
Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a bit
surprised to see the aircraft on a small strip outside my homestead,
because the ALA (Authorized Landing Area) is about a mile away. I
explained that because this strip was so close to the homestead, it
was more convenient than the ALA, and despite the power lines crossing
about midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to land and take-off,
because at the halfway point down the strip you're usually still on the
ground.
For some reason Ron seemed nervous. So, although I had done the daily
flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all over
again. Because Ront was watching me carefully, I walked around the
aircraft three times instead of me usual two.
My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned to Ron's cheeks.
In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously better
mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight with some farm
work, as I had to deliver three poddy (small) calves from the home paddock to the
main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the calves and threw
them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed aboard, but Ron
started getting onto me about weight and balance calculations and all that
crap Of course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because,
calves like to move around a bit particularly when they see themselves 500
feet off the ground! So, it's really pointless trying to secure them as
you know. However, I did tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep
the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all
stages throughout the flight.
Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time by
tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 rpm. I then
discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing a
headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and
demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a month ago and was
caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in
the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved now, but it
doesn't matter because it's jammed on `All tanks', so I suppose that's
Okay.
However, as Ron was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the noise on
vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask which I keep in a beaut
little possie between the windshield and the magnetic compass. My
explanation seemed to relax Ron, because he slumped back in the seat and
kept looking up at the cockpit roof. I released the brakes to taxi out,
but unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the right. "Crumbs" I
thought, "not the starboard wheel chock again".
The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked around just in time
to see a rock thrown by the prop-wash disappear completely through the
windscreen of his brand new Commodore (car). "Now I'm really in trouble", I
thought.
While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that
we taxi to the ALA, and instead took off under the power lines. Ron didn't
say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing right at the
lift off point, and then he really screamed his head off. "Oh Oh Oh !"
"Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly. "That often happens on take-off
and there is a good reason for it". I explained patiently that I usually
run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I accidentally put in a
gallon or two of kerosene (parrafin) to compensate for the low octane of the
kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS and shook the wings
up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine has been
coughing a bit but in general it works just fine, if you know how to coax
it properly.
Anyway, at this stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my test flight.
he seemed lost in prayer. I selected some nice music on the HF radio to help him relax. Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 10,500 feet. I don't normally put in a flight plan or get the weather because, as you know getting FAX access out here
is a joke and the weather is always 8/8 blue anyway. But since I
had that near miss with a light commuter pLANE, I might have to change me thinking
on that.
Anyhow, on leveling out, I noticed some wild pigs heading into my
improved pasture. I hate these wild pigs and the damage thay cause and always carry a loaded 303 clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see any of the
them.
We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided to
have a go through the open window. Rons I missed and I lost concentration for a second and the shot went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a bit upset about the shooting so I decided not to tell him about our little problem with the tyre.
Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my fighter
pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I
pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a sideslip from 10,500
feet down to 500 feet at 130 knots indicated (the last time I looked
anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red area on me ASI. What a
buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I looked back in the cabin
to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy. I
was going to comment on this unusual sight, but Ron looked a bit green and
had rolled himself into the fetal position and was screamin' his
head off. Mate, talk about being in a zoo. You should've been
there, it was so funny!
At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we kept sinking.
When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but nothin' happened. No
noise no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me head
saying "carb heat, carb heat". So I pulled carb heat on and that helped
quite a lot, with the engine finally regaining full power. Whew, that was
really close, let me tell you!
Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have it,
at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the cattle and
suddenly went I.F. You would have been really proud of
me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a mental note to
consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is repaired (something
I've been meaning to do for a while now). Suddenly Ron's elongated neck
and bulging eyes reappeared. His mouth opened wide, very wide, but no
sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a
minute". Sure enough, about a minute later we emerged, still straight and
level and still at 50 feet.
Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I kept
thinking to meself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten to set
the QNH when we were taxiing". This minor tribulation forced me to fly to
a nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get upright again.
By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip
between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right there."
Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple of
steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was blaring so
loud in me ear that I cut it's circuit breaker to shut it up, but by then
I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75 foot final
and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had always thought
you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I was proved
wrong again!
Halfway through our third ground loop, Ron at last recovered his sense of
humor. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't
stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves, who bolted
out of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow.
I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits of
laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff the
port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead. It was then
that Ron really lost the plot and started running away from the aircraft.
Can you believe it? The last time I saw him he was off into the distance,
arms flailing in the air and still shrieking with laughter. I later heard
that he had been confined to a psychiatric institution - poor fellow!
Anyhow mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I got this letter
from CASA withdrawing, as they put it, my privileges to fly; until I have
undergone a complete pilot training course again and undertaken another
flight proficiency test.
Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and not
setting the QNH using strip elevation, but I can't see what else I did
that was a so bad that they have to withdraw me flamin' license.
Can you?
Ralph H Bell Mud Creek Plantation
