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Great story, Wings!

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  • Job Conger
    Your story is making the rounds. My friend Barry Tempest, also a Limey, known in your air as the Limey Fed and on the air show circuit as Sheik Yassir
    Message 1 of 1 , Nov 1, 2005
      Your story is making the rounds. My friend Barry Tempest, also a Limey,
      known in your air as the "Limey Fed" and on the air show circuit as "Sheik
      Yassir Veryfat" passed it around a few months ago. Hilarious story. Thanks
      for sharing it. I've never complained about laughing twice at the same good
      May your skies be CAVU, and may you always return softly to home,
      Job Conger
      Visit and support my websites if you've a mind to --
      aviation - www.aeroknow.com
      not aviation - www.aeroknow.com/and.htm

      ----- Original Message -----
      From: "wings081" <no_reply@yahoogroups.com>
      To: <ticket2write@yahoogroups.com>
      Sent: Tuesday, November 01, 2005 2:33 PM
      Subject: [ticket2write] Airborne in Oz (FAO Job)

      > Hi Job.
      > I thought this might amuse you and any other member with an interest
      > in flight safety.
      > I should warn you, the author is Australian and they are renowned
      > for calling a spade a spade but if I censor this piece it would lose
      > its `charm', so beware ladies this is unexpurgated.
      > This letter was written to a flight instructor.
      > Hi there Mate,
      > I hope you and Alice are well. I know it's been quite a while since
      > you
      > last heard from me, Doreen and the rest of the family are all OK but
      > I think
      > they're getting a bit pissed off with station life, particularly when
      > there's bugga all rain to speak of and the cattle and sheep are
      > dying all
      > over the place!
      > I'm writing to you, mate, because I need your help to get me bloody
      > pilots
      > 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
      > bloody
      > desperate). But first, I'd better tell you what happened during my
      > last
      > flight review with the CASA Examiner.
      > On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA dickhead) 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 ALA. Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Ron
      > turns up
      > last Wednesday.
      > First up, he says he was a bit surprised to see the plane outside my
      > homestead because the ALA is about a mile away. I explained that
      > because
      > the strip was so close to the homestead, it was more convenient than
      > the
      > ALA, despite the power lines crossing 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 taking off and
      > have been on
      > the ground a while when landing). For some reason Ron seemed
      > nervous. So,
      > although I'd done the pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I
      > decided to do it all over again. Because the prick was watching me
      > carefully, I walked around the plane three times instead of my 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
      > 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' 172.
      > We climbed aboard but Ron started getting into me about weight and
      > balance
      > calculations and all that bullshit. Of course I knew that sort of
      > thing
      > was a waste of time, and told him that the 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 Araldited to
      > neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout
      > the flight.
      > Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimised the warm-up time
      > by
      > tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500rpm. 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
      > 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 OK.
      > However, as Ron was obviously a real 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, "Shit" I
      > thought, not the bloody starboard wheel chock 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. Shit, 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, then he bloody screamed his head off, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh
      > God!"
      > "Now take it easy, Ron" I told him firmly, "this 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. 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 mate, 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 anyone 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 NAIPS access out
      > here
      > is a f#*% 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 me
      > thinking.
      > Anyhow, on levelling out I noticed some wild camels heading into my
      > improved pasture. I hate 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 bloody 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 flap, 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 rushing up to the red area on me ASI. Shit, 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 foetal position and was screamin his f*&%# head
      > off. Mate,
      > talk about being in a bloody zoo. You should've been there, it was
      > so
      > bloody funny!
      > At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we continued
      > 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
      > 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, mate. BJ, 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 mate," I
      > told
      > him. "we'll be out of this shit in a minute." Sure enough, about a
      > minute
      > later we emerge; 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
      > myself "Shit I hope Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten to set
      > the QNH
      > when we were taxying." This minor tribulation forced me to fly to a
      > nearby
      > valley in which I had to do a half roll to get upright again, and
      > that was
      > fair dinkum too.
      > By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a little
      > 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 its 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 loop Ron at last recovered his sense of
      > humour.
      > 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 bastard!
      > 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 licence. Can you?
      > Anyhow mate, the reason for writing to you is to ask if you know any
      > flight
      > instructors who would be willing to come out the station for about 2
      > months
      > to help get me back up to speed. I'll pay them good money while
      > they're
      > here and they won't have to worry about paying for food or
      > accommodation.
      > Looking forward to your response. Until then, take care, mate.
      > Kindest Regards
      > Pete Heat.
      > As always
      > Wings.
      > Learn more about ticket2wite at http://ticket2write.tripod.com
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