dicksbro
09-27-2003, 06:26 PM
My pilot friend sent me this which he called: "A New Zealand Subject: A Pilot's Submission to the Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA)"
I thought it was terrifically funny ...
----
On the phone Phil seemed a reasonable sort of bloke. He reminded me of the need to do my flight review every two years. He even offered to drive out, look over my property and let me operate from my own ALA (authorized landing area). Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Phil turned up last Wednesday. He said he was a bit surprised to see the plane outside my homestead because the ALA was a mile away. I explained that being close, this strip was more convenient, although there were power lines crossing it at about midway, but it's really no problem to land and take-off because at the half-way point you are on the ground anyway.
For some reason Phil seemed nervous. So, although I had done the pre-flight inspection a few days earlier, I decided to do it again. Because he was watching me carefully, I walked around the plane three times. My effort was rewarded because the colour returned to Phil's cheeks - in fact they went to a brighter red. In view of Phil's obviously better mood, I told him I was going to combine my test flight with my requirement to deliver three poddy calves from the home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I caught the calves and threw them in the back. We climbed aboard but Phil started nagging about weight and balance calculation.
Of course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because stock likes to move around a bit. 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. That's when I then discovered that Phil has very acute hearing.
Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and demanded I account for it. Actually it began earlier that month and was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector couldn't then be moved, however, it was on 'All Tanks' position anyway, so I figured that it didn't matter. My explanation seemed to relax Phil a bit, because he slumped back in the seat and stared 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, I forgot the starboard wheel chock again.
The bump jolted Phil back to full alertness. He looked wildly just in time to see a rock thrown by the propwash disappear through the wind screen of his parked automobile. While Phil was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that we taxi a mile to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines next to the house. Phil didn't say a word, at least not until the engine coughed at lift off, then he screamed, "Oh God!"
"Now take it easy," 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 avgas, 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 off high octane gas then shook the wing tanks 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. At this stage Phil seemed to lose all interest in the flight test. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and seemed to became lost in prayer. I selected some nice music on the HF to help him relax.
Meanwhile I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 500 feet. On leveling out, I noticed some wild camels and they were heading into my improved pasture. I hate camels and always carry a loaded .303 carbine clipped inside the door. I decided to have a go through the open window. The effect on Phil was electric. As I fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. In fact, Phil's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration and the next shot went through the port tyre. Phil was a bit upset about the shooting, probably one of those pinko animal lovers - I thought, so I decided not to tell him about our little tyre problem.
Shortly afterwards I located the main herd of camels and decided to do my fighter pilot trick. Phil had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power to idle and started a sideslip down to 50 feet. As we began the descent I looked back to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air. And I was going to comment on this unusual sight, but Phil had rolled himself into the fetal position and was emitting odd squealing noises. I leveled out, but for some reason we continued sinking. When we reached pasture height I applied full power and that helped quite a lot. Then, as luck would have it, at that height we flew into a dust cloud caused by the running camels and went IFR.
I made a mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as the gyros were repaired. Suddenly Phil'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, we emerged; still straight and level and back to 50 feet, although we were now inverted; that forced us into a shallow depression near by where we were able to do a half-roll to get upright again. By now the main camel herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip between them. "Ah!," I thought, "there's a good omen. We'll land there." Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple of steep turns with full flaps. Soon the stall warning horn came on and so I knew we were slow enough. I turned steeply onto a 25 foot final and put her down. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger. Halfway through our ground loop Phil at last recovered his sense of humor. Talk about laugh.... I've never seen the likes of it; he couldn't stop laughing.
We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves. I then began picking clumps of thick, dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits of laughter Phil asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff the port tyre with grass so we could take-off. It was then that the man took-off, arms flailing in the air... laughing. Anyhow that's enough about Phil; I just got a letter from CASA withdrawing, as they put it, my privilege of holding a license to fly.
Hmmmm. What did I do that was so terrible?
I thought it was terrifically funny ...
----
On the phone Phil seemed a reasonable sort of bloke. He reminded me of the need to do my flight review every two years. He even offered to drive out, look over my property and let me operate from my own ALA (authorized landing area). Naturally I agreed to that. Anyway, Phil turned up last Wednesday. He said he was a bit surprised to see the plane outside my homestead because the ALA was a mile away. I explained that being close, this strip was more convenient, although there were power lines crossing it at about midway, but it's really no problem to land and take-off because at the half-way point you are on the ground anyway.
For some reason Phil seemed nervous. So, although I had done the pre-flight inspection a few days earlier, I decided to do it again. Because he was watching me carefully, I walked around the plane three times. My effort was rewarded because the colour returned to Phil's cheeks - in fact they went to a brighter red. In view of Phil's obviously better mood, I told him I was going to combine my test flight with my requirement to deliver three poddy calves from the home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I caught the calves and threw them in the back. We climbed aboard but Phil started nagging about weight and balance calculation.
Of course I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because stock likes to move around a bit. 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. That's when I then discovered that Phil has very acute hearing.
Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and demanded I account for it. Actually it began earlier that month and was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector couldn't then be moved, however, it was on 'All Tanks' position anyway, so I figured that it didn't matter. My explanation seemed to relax Phil a bit, because he slumped back in the seat and stared 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, I forgot the starboard wheel chock again.
The bump jolted Phil back to full alertness. He looked wildly just in time to see a rock thrown by the propwash disappear through the wind screen of his parked automobile. While Phil was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that we taxi a mile to the ALA and instead took off under the power lines next to the house. Phil didn't say a word, at least not until the engine coughed at lift off, then he screamed, "Oh God!"
"Now take it easy," 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 avgas, 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 off high octane gas then shook the wing tanks 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. At this stage Phil seemed to lose all interest in the flight test. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and seemed to became lost in prayer. I selected some nice music on the HF to help him relax.
Meanwhile I climbed to my normal cruising altitude of 500 feet. On leveling out, I noticed some wild camels and they were heading into my improved pasture. I hate camels and always carry a loaded .303 carbine clipped inside the door. I decided to have a go through the open window. The effect on Phil was electric. As I fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. In fact, Phil's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration and the next shot went through the port tyre. Phil was a bit upset about the shooting, probably one of those pinko animal lovers - I thought, so I decided not to tell him about our little tyre problem.
Shortly afterwards I located the main herd of camels and decided to do my fighter pilot trick. Phil had gone back to praying when, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power to idle and started a sideslip down to 50 feet. As we began the descent I looked back to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air. And I was going to comment on this unusual sight, but Phil had rolled himself into the fetal position and was emitting odd squealing noises. I leveled out, but for some reason we continued sinking. When we reached pasture height I applied full power and that helped quite a lot. Then, as luck would have it, at that height we flew into a dust cloud caused by the running camels and went IFR.
I made a mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as the gyros were repaired. Suddenly Phil'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, we emerged; still straight and level and back to 50 feet, although we were now inverted; that forced us into a shallow depression near by where we were able to do a half-roll to get upright again. By now the main camel herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip between them. "Ah!," I thought, "there's a good omen. We'll land there." Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple of steep turns with full flaps. Soon the stall warning horn came on and so I knew we were slow enough. I turned steeply onto a 25 foot final and put her down. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger. Halfway through our ground loop Phil at last recovered his sense of humor. Talk about laugh.... I've never seen the likes of it; he couldn't stop laughing.
We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves. I then began picking clumps of thick, dry grass. Between gut wrenching fits of laughter Phil asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to stuff the port tyre with grass so we could take-off. It was then that the man took-off, arms flailing in the air... laughing. Anyhow that's enough about Phil; I just got a letter from CASA withdrawing, as they put it, my privilege of holding a license to fly.
Hmmmm. What did I do that was so terrible?