OZ Pilot needs help

gkainz

Final Approach
Joined
Feb 23, 2005
Messages
8,401
Location
Arvada, CO
Display Name

Display name:
Greg Kainz
from the inbox today...

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A PLEA FOR HELP FROM A GROUNDED AUSTRALIAN PILOT TO HIS FRIEND

Hi Mate,

I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody
pilot's license 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 bloody desperate. But first, I'd better tell you
what happened during my last flight review with the CAA examiner.

On the phone, Ron (that's the CAA guy) seemed a reasonable sort of
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 plane 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 that cross
about midway down the strip it's really not a problem to land and
take-off because at the half-way point down the strip you're usually
still on the ground.

For some reason Ron seemed nervous. So although I had done the
pre-flight inspection only four days earlier I decided to do it all
over again. Because Ron was watching me carefully, I walked around the
plane three times instead of my usual two. My effort was rewarded
because the color finally returned to Ron's cheeks. In fact, they were
a bright red.

In view of Ron's obviously better mood, I told him that I was going
to combine the test with some farm work as I had to deliver three poddy
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 on to me about weight and
balance calculations and all that crap. Of course I knew that 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 bloody
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 that 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 gunned her to 2,500 rpm. I then
discovered that Ron has very acute hearing,, even though he was wearing
a bloody headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle
and demanded that 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 machanism. 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 real nit-picker, I blamed the noise
on a vibration from a steel thermos flask which I keep in a beaut
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. "Hell", I thought, "not the starboard
chalk again." The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked
wildly around just in time to see a rock thrown by the propwash
disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new Commodore.

While Ron was ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that
we taxi to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines. Ron
didn'tsay a word, at least not until the engine started coughing right
at the lift off point, then he bloody screamed his head off.

"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

"Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly. "That often happens
after 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. 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 flight test.

He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and became lost in
prayer. (I didn't think that anybody was a Catholic these days.)

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 friggin joke and the bloody
weather is always 8/8 blue anyway. But since I had that near miss with
a Saab 340 I might have to change my thinking on that. Anyhow, on
leveling out I noticed some wild camels heading into my

improved pasture.

I hate bloody camels and always carry a loaded .303 clipped inside
the door of the Cessna just in case I see any of the bastards. We were
too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided to have a
go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out
the effect on Ron was friggin' electric.

As I fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six inches
and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he
had been jabbed with an electric cattle prod on full power. In fact,
Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration for a
second and the next shot went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a
bit upset about the shooting (probably one of those pinko animal lovers
I guess) 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 and 130 knots indicated (the
last time I looked anyway) and the little needle rushing up 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 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 freaking head off.

Mate, talk about being in a bloody zoo.

You should have been there, it was so bloody funny.

At about 500 feet I attempted to level out. For some reason we
continued sinking. When we reached 50 feet I applied full power but
nothing happened; no noise, no nothin. Then, luckily, I heard me
instructor's voice in me head saying "carby heat, carby heat". So I
pulled carby 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. bloody R. You
would've been bloody 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 emerge; still straight and level and still at 50 feet.
Admittedly, I was surprise to notice that we were upside down and I
kept thinking to myself, "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
into 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 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 bugger.

Anyhow, mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is, I just got a
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 so bloody bad
that they have to withdraw me flamin' license. Can you?
 
Hysterically Funny :D
 
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