Aviating Aussie Style!
Posted: 19 Feb 2014, 10:21
A bit lengthy but well worth reading.I defy you not to at least smile!
Subject: Letter from an Australian Cattle Station Pilot
To:
Letter to local Member of Parliament,
I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody 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 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 d*#"head), 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 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 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 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' 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
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 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 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 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. "Hell" 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. "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 bloody screamed his head off.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
"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. 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 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 fli ght plan or
get the weather because, as you know getting FAX access out here is a
friggin' joke and the 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 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 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 to Ron on this unusual sight, but he looked a bit green and had
rolled himself into the feral position and was screaming' his 'freakin' 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 leveled out, but for some reason we kept
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
"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. bloody R, mate. 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 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 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 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? I saw him running 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 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 so bloody bad that they have to withdraw me
flaming' license. Can you?
Ralph H. Bell
Mud Creek Station
EricT
Subject: Letter from an Australian Cattle Station Pilot
To:
Letter to local Member of Parliament,
I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody 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 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 d*#"head), 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 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 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 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' 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
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 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 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 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. "Hell" 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. "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 bloody screamed his head off.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
"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. 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 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 fli ght plan or
get the weather because, as you know getting FAX access out here is a
friggin' joke and the 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 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 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 to Ron on this unusual sight, but he looked a bit green and had
rolled himself into the feral position and was screaming' his 'freakin' 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 leveled out, but for some reason we kept
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
"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. bloody R, mate. 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 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 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 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? I saw him running 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 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 so bloody bad that they have to withdraw me
flaming' license. Can you?
Ralph H. Bell
Mud Creek Station
EricT
Crazy Aussies, 
Hope the next exminer packs a change of underwear!