sixtiesrelic

I noticed the Tsunami DVD over on the left of the page and had a look to see what it was about. I rode the Morning Glory two days in a row in the spring of ’83. I’d heard about it some years before but forgotten all about it when a mate and I went for a bit of a jaunt half way round Oz in the Tri-pacer. We were camped at Escott station and got a bit of a surprise when we arose from the tent the first morning and found the place swathed in heavy fog. Some time after the fog lifted we were sitting round when there was a sort of squall with a bit of scraggy cloud, and a few rain drops that tore past south bound. It was sudden and very short lived. We looked at each other and said what the hell happened then? The whispy cloud disappeared south and just the usual western dry blue sky was above us. It hit me! That was the “Morning Glory” and I explained what it was to me Kiwi mate who’d never heard of it. Next morning another fog. When it lifted we decided to go for a bit of a burn to check out the area in the morning light and see if another roll cloud would appear. We flew to the coast and sure enough out to sea was a wedge shaped cloud. We flew north towards it for a closer look. I thought I might fly under it, but on getting closer we could see the base was only two hundred feet from the sea. Decided that was a bit too adventurous, so flew parallel to the beach climbing to see how high the top was. It was only thirteen hundred feet. I continued to climb and flew over the top for a look at the back. Fairly steep from memory. We flew well behind it to see what we could see and went down to check the two hundred foot base was there too. We played for a while getting close, to check it out then did a climbing orbit and headed back to get over it again. I found with ten degrees nose up, best rate of climb speed and climb power, we weren’t climbing till I turned away and flew north for a while. Recognised that we had been in a fairly strong down draught and reckoned if that was the case behind the cloud, there should be an updraught in front of it. Went well clear of the top at about two and a half thousand and flew parallel to the face descending. Once close, we found that there WAS an updraught on the front face. Gliding with power at idle, we were going up at one to two hundred feet a minute a minute at eighty five knots. Best glide speed for the milk stool is at seventy three and you go down at one thousand feet a minute. Those stubby wings don’t give you the seven hundred feet a minute you get in Cessnas and Warriors. The next day we went for a play again and took the camera. Thems were the days when you only took a few photos as you had to get them developed and printed at about fifty cents each in today's money. Going mad with the camera for three weeks could really cost. Had some time to plan this flight. We headed north west to meet the cloud over the water and ridge soared along it eastwards for some minutes, cooling the engine down then pulled the mixture out and stopped the prop to prove that we were really ridge soaring. We did about eighty five to eighty eight knots for about five minutes over land in that state. I did have a couple of photos of the prop sticking up and the cloud sloping downwards, but had them loose, showing them to people and they’re lost now. I always thought I should go back in a strut-less Cessna 210 and fly out to sea, west of Mornington Island or even Groote and ridge soar to Burketown or Normanton just for fun with the engine shut down. They were about the cleanest, slippery, plane we could easily get our hands on back then. I have heard that lots of people go there now to play like we did twenty six years ago, so I’ve not thought any more about it. It’s quite interesting, While over water you see it, but soon after it crosses the coast it rapidly dissipates visibly, but the front heads well inland before it dies. Blokes tell me they’ve felt the thump in clear air fifty miles inland. What’s different about it is it is a reverse roll… doesn’t roll like a bottle over a flat surface like a frontal roll cloud, but sweeps upwards on the face and rolls downwards on the back. The CSIRO did some investigation many years ago in a Friendship, but couldn’t explain it. There are two places in the world where it appears in spring. Gulf of Carpentaria and Mexico, although I once saw something like it when flying over Spencer Gulf and reckoned it might have been the same phenomenon. I've seen a pretty interesting photo of it and you wouldn't get me anywhere near it if it was as angry as that photo. A friend told me that some days he's seen three seperate lines of Morning Glory's, so it's certainly an interesting thing to study. This was some way inland when it had diminished somewhat. Further inland say five minutes later. It was getting very raggy.

Hear hear. Nice to read about real aeroplanes and adventures and people. Beware of Cu. I was looking up at one in Brissy on a summer day and saw a mini tornado shoot about 200 feet out of the bottom and turn parallel to the base and swoosh off about a kilometre in a couple of seconds. i rang a friend who could tell me which jet was nearby (couldn't see it) and I contacted Qantas and asked if they'd sus out the captain and get him to ring me. He did and we talked about what he saw on the radar and what I saw. He saw a bit of red but nothing scary. I reckon if he'd have flown through that thing he'd have gotten a big surprise.

I noticed an old friend up in the random photos across the top of the page to-day. The yellow and white Tri-pacer VH-KKO. My mate Muriel bought him in 1985 or 6. For some reason Muriel reckoned chunky old KKO was a boy plane and named him Oscar; we reckoned out Tri-pacer DEB was a she. KKO came into my life sometime after I got a phone call from Muriel saying she wanted to buy our Tri-pacer, which had just been advertised. She had already rushed in and bought an Ansett one way ticket from Adelaide to Brissy to pick the plane up and fly it home. I’ve not heard many heart rendering, moans of disappointment like Muriel’s when I told her she was two hours too late. I’d just accepted a deposit from a young Western farmer after taking him up for a fly in DEB. Muriel was adamant she was buying a Tri-pacer and I added my bit to enhance her conviction that a PA22 was the most desirable aircraft a person could own. We decided to meet next time I was in Adelaide, when I could give her some pretty rare paperwork on Tri-pacers. Next steed to come on the market was KKO. He arrived in Parafield in the mid eighties from I forget where, and on coming to a halt in his new parking spot, sagged with exhaustion as a tyre went flat. He knew he was at his new home and was going to be looked after by a nice lady. He was a bit tired and needed some work done on him, but Muriel snaffled him before anyone else got a look in. Can’t remember all the little jobs that needed doing. Definitely at least one tyre and tube. The fabric’s dope needed rejuvenating so she decided that a new colour scheme wouldn’t go astray at the same time. My first fly in him was when he was still in the original scheme. We went for a burn out of Parafield to the East for a look at Murray Bridge and the Coorong. He performed normally and the engine ran faultlessly. My judgement was, “It’s a good aeroplane”. A year later when Oscar was just all white with rejuvenated fabric we decided I would come over to Adelaide and we’d fly up to Western Queensland where DEB had moved to and spend a couple of days out on the station and go for a fly in both aircraft as well as some flying in company for video purposes. From there we could fly to Brissy where three more Tri-pacers were living. After a week or so at my place we could fly back via Southern NSW where we could stay at another mate’s property. Muriel was an instructor, so I suggested we take one of her students along and he could do some training on the way and get experience at flying and navigating over the remote area. Colin won the spot and we set off a few weeks later. It was early winter, so even in the middle of the day flying conditions were calm and pleasant. We got as far as Tiboobera the first day. Gawd what a dreary place. I can only remember the fact that the street was at the foot of a rocky hill, so the back of the forlorn shops and houses had a cliff for a back fence. There wasn’t any sort of a back yard. Much of the inland is beautiful, not so some of the country we flew over, enroute to Quilpie. There’s a swag of it that is dreary, looking like some untidy old bloke’s face who’s not too particular the way he shaves; when he does… tufts of many day old bristles amongst the wrinkles and blackheads. It’s because of the trees. They don’t grow straight and tall but tend to clump and the black, scraggy branches and trunks fall outwards to lie for years littering the red ground. Some spinifex grows prettily in pompoms while the older stuff we saw goes donutty shaped. Again unkempt, especially when near the trees and gibber patches. A lot to do with the colour of that country depends on the direction you’re looking. Northbound you see all the shadows, which intensify the bleakness of the sparse black trees and dusky, grey foliage. Often, if you look at the same country southbound you see the smoky glow of the sunny side of the foliage which is much more pleasing. Most of my flying in the South West of Queensland was East West. Coming up from the South, everything looked different. Cloudy condition over the grey country doesn’t liven the scenery up much either. Our destination was East of Quilpie and things didn’t look quite right as we got close to our ETA. There were no real landmarks for quite some time out of Thargomindah, so it had been just a case of holding the heading. There wasn’t any problem in getting lost, as we would cross the east west railway line the property was straddling. When the line came into view we should have been able to see Qulpie way off a wingtip. “Wrong sort of country out there… there’s been a bit of a mistake somewhere, we’re too far East”. Turned West and soon found Cheepie and continued along the line to where we should be. With a bit of re-measuring it became evident we’d steered something like 022 rather than 012. A bit of mistake between measuring on the protractor and writing numbers in a box during flight planning. We stayed a few days on the station, roo shooting for the dog’s meat, flying each others planes, bit of car racing and motorbike riding. Colin was a city boy. He’d never ridden a motor bike. He’d only had a few drives of his parent’s automatic Had his first go on one of the farm trail bikes; one with a bit of getup and go. The boys liked tinkering with engines The first two tries ended in too quick clutch releasing and not enough throttle… stalls. His first takeoff was most spectacular. On not stalling, there was a wobbly, alarming, lurchy careen towards a parked, Landcruiser ute, with a miraculous avoidance at the last moment. More a loss of balance than skilful steering, Col missed having a nasty accident by a smidgen and proceeded with a sedate, wide orbit, getting the feel of things. Confident, he headed over towards the shearers quarters and did a gear change. Bit jerky, but steady in the roll axis, so he sped up and changed to third. A small wobble had him twisting the throttle and getting a great surprise at the surging acceleration, which caused him to lean back. Colin hung on. TIGHT. Throttle full open, he headed for Thargomindah. Didn’t matter how loud we yelled, “Let the throttle go!” Colin couldn’t hear us. Wind rushing past his ears… no helmet, the screaming engine… too far away… He got her under control out near the railway line. Luckily the seasons had been dry Grass clumps had been eaten and he was on the edge of a clay pan. Lots a room to manoeuvre. When he got back, again a moment of confusion…just what controls to manipulate slipped his mind and he had period of uncontrollability ending in a sudden, dusty crash into the wall of the generator shed. It was his seventeenth birthday. There’s no doubt he’ll always remember that day. After he calmed down and we had lunch, Colin was given the task of going to the strip and doing ONE circuit. His third solo. There was about thirty to forty minutes of fuel in each tank. Plan was, when he turned crosswind after take off, we would see him from the back veranda and then we would go to the strip to refuel both aircraft. Colin did a 450 degree turn from upwind to crosswind and we went into the house to get what we needed, put on our boots and drove round to the strip. Plane was parked in a funny position. One wheel up on the mound that the grader left on the side of the cleared strip. Colin was beside Oscar scoffing water from the emergency bottle. Muriel saw that something was wrong from the way he looked… ashen and shaky. Bit like after we got the bike off him beside the gene shed. “Whad ja park it like that ya mad illegitimate person? “ “Had an engine failure!” “What?” “Engine failed” “Where… when?” “Just after I did the turn over the homestead” “Whad’ja do then?” “Forced landed down the strip” We hadn’t heard it because the wireless was on the country hour in the kitchen and Grandad was a bit hard of hearing. Col points out where he had the failure. “Bu.ger! A dicky engine a long way from an engineer”. I had a bit of a think. “I don’t reckon there’s anything wrong. From what he’d described, sounds like maybe fuel starvation.” “Yeah?” Dipped the tanks… they were OK. Pulled the prop through. No binding or funny noises. No oil leaks. Nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ll start her up”. The crowd were a bit leery about my doing a test flight, but the surrounding country was flat and there were plenty of good tracks and the claypan to land on, IF the engine failed. I reckoned I’d know if it was crook in the twenty five seconds it takes to get to sixty five knots and the strip is very long. Put some more fuel in both tanks and did a circuit. Not a cough… ran like always. Un-coordinated (skidding) turn over the homestead! Fuel starved at the inboard tank outlet as it pooled in the outer part of the tank, but enough in the line and carby to keep the engine running till he was pointing downwind then the big bubble of air in the fuel line starved the engine for a few seconds. That was enough to have Col go rapidly into forced landing mode and close the throttle. Listening to the lack of exhaust sound, Col decided to get her down from the very favourable position he was in, he turned the fuel, magies and master off and glided in for an uneventful landing. Wasn’t happy looking at the stationary prop poking up where usuakky there was a blur. He started turning at the end of the landing roll and stopped, facing the strange direction. Most other pilots would probably have dithered around not closing the throttle, just long enough for the fuel to fill the carby and the engine to run smoothly again. Colin was like a coiled spring being so new to the game and on the first cough, he was into the drill. There was a big high over the centre so conditions were calm and perfect for lots of fun flying for the video camera. We got lots of beaut aerial sunset footage that afternoon. When we left a couple of days later we headed East for Brissy. The country slowly changed from red sand and gibbers to continuous mulga to mixed farms. We landed at Charleville for the experience and refuelled at Roma then saw the country green up as we reached the Darling Downs where green, grey, black, and brown parallel lines in lines stretched out in geometric patterns as far as the eye could see. Over an hour of cattle country and we had Oscar tied down at Redcliffe ready to meet Charlie when he came over from Caboolture. This one was taken a couple of years later. Charlie's the red one The rest of the trip… maybe I’ll write that another day. But I’ll mention this bit… When we landed at Gunedah, we parked in front of another Tri-pacer. DNW Muriel was so impressed with the colour scheme that we photographed it so she could show the painter what she had finally decided. He WAS pleased. Bein’ a woman, Muriel couldn’t quite decide what scheme she wanted for months and months while Oscar sat round pure white with only his rego taped on. Old Ocar still has that same livery. I spotted him in our member (VH-KDK’s) 2008 photo. Interestingly on having a bit of a search on the net I see DNW changed colour schemes completely and is reported now having a tail wheel. Tri-pacers are NOT a attractive aeroplane. The nickname, “ Milkstool” suits ‘em It’s because they were modified from tailwheeler to tricycle. When you see ‘em back to original form they’re a pretty little aeroplane.

Don't know if I've mentioned it before ... The red Tripacer was Dick's and the Blue was mine. The Photo of mine was taken with the new owner in front of it. It was such a good photo I got it blown up to poster size and laminated for him. We'd landed on a mesa which stuck up a couple of hundred feet above the surrounding country. Looked a bit like landing on an aircraft carrier.

I added a couple of better photos to this.

My mate Dick has been on my back to come out to the strip and have a fly in his plane with him. What with one thing and another it’s been three years and I hadn’t made it. He rang the other day and asked if I’d like to come to the strip next week for the spreading of old Carl’s ashes which Mal was going to do from his Gipsy Moth. As I’d have that day off, I said, “Yes”. Dick mentioned he was going up to the strip soon to watch Mal do some practise runs. I invited myself along for the day too. Old Carl was a bit of a legend on the strip, having built a single seater, home built and operated it from there for years. He was an old bomber pilot and a real perfectionist. I’d first met him when they were moored in Rabaul in 1972 while he and his wife were mooching around the Pacific in their beautifully built Ketch for a few years. When “The Bridge Over the River Kwai” hit Australia and was being talked about, Karl had a recollection of a mission he’d done involving bombing some bridge in Siam and all the fuss that had been made in the briefing about not dropping ‘em unless they were absolutely certain that they wouldn’t hit a prison camp on the river bank. They didn’t mention the river’s name… it was just a mission number. “We must have hit it, cause the bombardier yelled, “Beauty”… That’s all Carl recalled all those years later when he went to the pictures. We’d had heaps of rain in Brissy for days and the wind was blowing hard on the coast, but was lighter at the inland location when we got to the strip. Mal was playing with his son’s Texan which they were going to do some circuits at a neighbouring longer strip, so Dick said, “Lets go flying while they’re away”. We went off for half an hour’s sight seeing in the150. Dick’s one of the small band I call a “real airman”. He’s thorough without any theatrics and once in the aircraft is a part of it. He flies for fun and relaxation and does a pretty good job of it. Others have asked me to go flying with them, to show me how good they are and guess what? They’re not! They operate by rote. Lots of ceremonial flamboyance and acting out the part of a professional pilot that they’ve learned, but they’re missing a naturalness and animal cunning that sets aside the real airmen. It’s always a pleasure to go up with Dick. We used to fly together in each other’s Tripacers in the olden days. He was beautiful to watch… very smooth and knows his aircraft backwards. Even his little habit of wiping the brake disks with WD40 at the end of a flight to prevent rust is done with such casualness while chatting away, that you have to stop and ask why he’s doing it. “Never had to replace brake pads on my aircraft because of rust wearing them out” We went up for about half an hour to enjoy the spectacle of the countryside after the real summer rains had returned and were filling the dams and greening the countryside When we got back we left the Cessna out in case we might go up again later. Mal and Mark arrived back and we got more footage of the Texan flying and taxiing. After lunch, the wind had dropped, so Mal wheeled the Gipsy out and got her ready. Mal’s an engineer. He Really knows his aircraft. He lovingly works on ‘em. ‘The Gipsy isn’t overly endowed with original parts… it’s like granddad’s axe which had seven handles and four heads”. Mal certainly knows which cylinder will fire and primes her so that’s the one to pull the prop through with no effort and the old girl starts every time. Gipsy’s are great. The eight foot long exhaust pipe that runs down the left side of the fuselage has a sound of it’s own. A pipey sort of sound, while, if you’re standing in front of her on the right hand side all you hear is a quiet ticking of the tappets, sort of like Chitty-chitty Bang-bang made. While idling, she blows black exhaust gas out of the pipe in puffs, but once the throttle opens to taxi she sounds like a Tiger or Auster. We’d decided that on “the day”, Carl might need a little bit more body. Mixing flour with the ashes would make him more visible. Mal wanted to stream him out rather than him to go off with a puff. Got a couple of runs on the video camera as Mal fine tuned the oriface for tipping Carl overboard. Got it right on the third flight… Naturally the best laid plans don’t always go the way you want ‘em “on the day”… Carl refused to exit the bag and it took three goes to finally stream out beautifully on downwind. Must have been the crowd who came to see him off. Not sure if anyone spotted that. I only realised it when looking at the footage later. Because it had turned out to be such a glorious afternoon on the practise day, Mark decided he’d go for a fly in the Texan and asked if I might like to come. Silly bluddy question really. I answered a split second later... from the cockpit seat. The Texan is a bit agricultural . They got lots of parts from the same place the DC-3 and bombers got theirs. Being a dual cockpit the controls are ganged together by levers and cables. It’s the only aeroplane we’ve seen with rods connecting the magneto switches in each cockpit. Seems much easier to have used a bit more wiring like Tiger moths and the like. Getting in her is a bit of a mountain climb. There’s a step sticking out of the fuselage half way between the wing and the cockpit that you have to reach. Don’t wear tight shorts! You sit well down in the cockpit and are warned to not drop anything out of your pockets. They’ll land up in the bilge. You’ll get ‘em back after the next major. View forward from the rear cockpit is pretty minimal No electric fuel pump, so a yellow handled lever starts going oinkeey, oinkeey, oinkeey beside your left elbow as the pilot pumps up the pressure for start... Bliddy side easier than the DC-3’s wobble pump which requires twelve PSI against the Texan’s four. Same length lever. The Texan’s wobble pump is in a cluster between the rudder trim wheel at the back (closest to the wall) and the elevator trim wheel at the front. The flap and gear lever are close by this lot. The starter is a whopping great pedal in the middle of the front cockpit’s rudder pedals. Old blokes remember the starter switch for their cars stuck out of the firewall somewhere near the clutch. Similar era. The butterfly valves for the cockpit warm air look like they were from the same foundry that cast parts for Sherman tanks. They live on each side of the starter and have saw tooth ridges on the front so your boot can move them open and shut. For an unlined aircraft with a Pratt and Whitney she’s fairly quiet. Lots of smoke and coughing on the start up. Someone said, “Ah! That’s where all the oil went”. After we’d watched Mark top her up with about three gallons of oil when doing the daily. Taxiing sounds great with a slow kadonka- kadonkata of the exhaust. One outlet makes her sound a lot like a Three. Run-up was normal RPM but the pilot has to be very wary as the mixture is back to front and between the throttle... furthest away, and pitch... closest. Worse still the mixture lever is back for rich. The incautious could go for the pitch lever instead of the Mixture if flustered. Take off was full and throaty. I left the hood fully open to get unimpeded views for the camera and it wasn’t windy or noisy. Flying was smooth and you hear no hydraulic noise with the operation of flaps and gear as well as no feeling they’re operating. Cruise is at nineteen hundred RPM. I though Tiger Moths are slow at nineteen fifty. She was cruising at around one thirty knots, which is at a nice economic speed. That is still one litre per mile. I didn’t really take in the surroundings as I was busily trying to get good footage. The camera didn’t like being shoved out in the airflow at arms length and played up. Possibly too much wind noise. I kept getting strange massages about the hard drive being not available and it was trying to recover files. Didn’t do much of a job of it. I found on looking at the footage on the ground that much of what I took was missing. Have to go again, won’t I?

When I get some time I'll write... Been for a fly in these recently.

Sorry wrong aeroplane ... the one I was thinking about was TVR.

I think it was in a Melbourne fun park,... Wobbies world?? thirty years ago. Vandals had smashed the instruments. Probably wouldn't be impossible to rebuild one in the future... There were a few in Indonesia still flying in 1992 and I'd guess some in South Africa and South America.

4 engines Vs 2 engines ... yes both the same Darts from memory.

compressor and turbine not prop.

Yeah! we wore business shirts but didn't have wings. The wing wearers (on their sports coats) were wankers and funnily, I don't know any who got to airlines.

This is the first metric instrumentation I've seen ever. Sorry that I had to stitch the compass and the oil temp on this picture. It was dark in a country hangar and I didn't have lots of time to play at getting a reflectionless photo. Now THIS is what I call "home built" Some parts were picked up at a flea market. I think he bought the stall warning horn from a Bikie who reckoned it was a bit aggressive for his "Hog" I first saw this aircraft more than 25 years ago. She hasn't flown yet and the owner doesn't know, but it never will... He's happy "tinkering away and gettin' it ready for it's test flight.." He's far too old to fly now.

Havin been there and done that from one gold stripe to four... We didn't get a one single bar till we got in an airline and we earned it. Sorry guys! we who did the hard yards get a bit miffed at seeing all the imposters.

It was hot. The engineer was sweatin’ and squintin’as he fastened the last of the inspection panels, while the sun reflected shimmering heat off the tailplane into his face. The owner was sweatin’ as he tidied up the doorway of the cabin where junk had accumulated during the hundred hourly and the Solomon Island’s airworthy inspection. Couple of unattached rear seats, bottles of water, lunch wrappings, tool boxes were being transferred to the back of the Engineer’s ute, sharing the tray with other toolboxes, rags, a couple of twenty litre Shell oil pails; the sort of stuff that’s associated with big round engines. The blue and white lady stood proudly with her slim, round nose pointing up to the sky, looking over a couple of puppy like Cessna 140s I stood leanin’ against the airframe in the wedge of shade it provided as I waited to go for a bit of a ride in her. DC-3s are better. You can stand waiting under the wing on a hot day. Beech Eighteens are big planes beside a Cessna, but ya can’t stand comfortably below the wing. A thin Canadian bloke with white hair drained the tanks and sumps pre-flight as the last check while I’d wandered around with my cameras. A pair of Pratts, wearin’ two, bladed, Hamilton Standard paddle props would soon growl and blow smoke and make that ka-poonka- ta, ka-poonka- ta noise that ChopChop, Chainy and Glenn think’s music. Bob had said, “Yeah’ when I asked if I c’d come, when I heard him say he was takin’ her up for an engine run. He’s regarded as a bit of a buccaneer by many, but most of the stories have been “modified”. He’s just a ‘one off’. Does things others dream of. I hadn’t seen him since the old days when I’d gotten into the mainline. He was a legend then, well to me and my peers. He’d left Ansett PNG a couple of years before we got there. He and his brother had left the territory for Ansett Oz. Their father was still a Captain up there, who we flew with, when we got to wear one thin bar on our shoulders and heard the legends of Bob’s shinanninins. In the mainline he was one of the larger than life jet, First Officers. Talked to everyone like they were old mates and surprised us all by leaving the security of an Aussie airline to seek adventure in Gipsy style endeavours. He’s had plenty of them and he’s embarking on a newie up in the Solomons, operating a coupla Beech Eighteens and a Grumman Goose. I chose a rear seat... get pictures of the ground behind the wing from there. All the rest would have the great slab of a thing in the way. The others aboard were the old Canadian pilot who had lots of hours on the “Eighteen” and plenty on the ”Three”. He’d flown a Three to Oz with Bob from Asia many years ago. He’s lending a hand in this new operation to train up the other bloke, a thirty year old heavy set, fella up in the front row. He’s a Twin Otter pilot who’s converting to the Beech. The other passenger was a young bloke who I suspect is as keen as mustard and is going to learn to fly. This eighteen has big double doors for cargo and the cabin wall has placards of the max weight that can be placed in each cabin zone. The walls and floor have rails attached which tie down rings can be anchored to secure cargo. Single seats were comfortable and windows large and close together. Bob and the engineer were up the front, messin’ around for a while and we rapidly got hot in the cabin. Engine priming was, nine pumps of the throttle while turning the engine over at the same time. I was concentrating on holding the zoomed camera steady above my head to capture the cockpit action so had to wait till I got home to see this on the computer. Hit the starter and there was a wheezy, sorta normal, aeroplane engine start. She grunted and tried …and kept going… at about three hundred RPM for a long time while as Bob yelled, “…flooded her!” Another nine primes and Number one started nicely. Sorry! the Pratt and Whitney Single Row, Wasp Junior just doesn’t really do IT for me. Now a Three’s start is a belly butterfly, producer! Lots of clanking and rattling, coughs and splutters and clouds of smoke before she settles down to eighteen spark plugs firing in their right order and exhaust gasses race the route around the manifold to freedom. After taxiing to the holding point there was a long run-up as the engineer took figures of the engine readings. There’s a lovely sound of the props slapping the air, while at idle because of the paddles, and the run-up has beaut throatiness about it’s roar while props are exercises and Mags checked. The sounds on takeoff are higher note than the ”three”, more like other light aircraft, (no gearbox reducing the prop RMP) but the waxing and waning as the engines get into sync while the props hunt in the early stages of the take-off run have a romance from the olden days that just ain’t there in jets. The high whistle if the supercharger is missing too. The flight… just a fly from Redcliffe to Caboolture where she normally lives. We flew over Deception Bay and the lower end of the Bribie passage at fifteen hundred and set off for downwind at Caboolture. There was a fair bit of haze and the windows were a little dirty on the outside with milky tracks sloping back where the rainwater had found a path from the roof in the last few weeks while she was parked outside. The auto focus wanted to capture these and there was a fair bit of reflection from the cabin that needed a hand beside the lens to block out. Gotta’ watch ya’ don’t hold the lens against the window and cop the vibrations. Looking back out the window we got to share a view that passengers in great big modern aeroplanes got to see fifty and sixty years ago; the small tail sitting out on the end of the tailplane. Shared that sight with Aussies who flew in the Lockheeds .. Electra, Electra Junior and Super Electra. Most noticeable thing on landing… a three pointer, was the racket the tail wheel makes on the grass surface. It is magnified up the leg into the rear cabin. Sound’s like something’s gunna bust. The rear cabin wall wasn’t attached because of the inspection. This has a wad of insulation on the back, which would deaden the sound. Was it fun? Course … it was a ride in a plane!

Isn't it a Qlink aircraft?

Dunnow... but thissy went to the Indonesian airforce in the late eighties or early nineties

Yes Fantome and I have been talking to each other for some months

I think if they flush riveted the couple of hundred thousand exposed rivets they might get more speed out of the old girls, more than fairing the undercarriage and wing attachment. VH-CWS flies about thirteen knots slower than the DC-3s I flew because of the bubble window down in the last seat row.

Yes DC-3. It has been retrofitted with the undercarriage doors.There are a number of threes with this feature. The engines don't look like 1830s... bit too long and stub exhausts rather than the one big one. The wing attachment joint is covered, another late mod for some I think. I have a book on DC-3s SOMEWHERE but couldn't find it a couple of weeks ago. Gettin' old and have too much stuff maybe.

Looks like a Super DC-3. There's a recent thread on it in PPrune. Yeah I know.... aggggghhhhh! It's a good thread "Flying the DC-3" in the Dununda and Godzone part. http://www.pprune.org/d-g-general-aviation-questions/357283-flying-dc3.html

Check out http://www.electranewbritain.com I met David recently to just drop off a DVD and left six and a half hours later after having some deep and interesting discussions with him. He certainly convinced me, by having me come up with answers to questions he put to me as to how Amelia could have gotten to the probable crash site. With each answer he showed me how that could easily have happened. Of course the Americans don't want to know ... they know better, but many of their calculations are made upon official figures, like fuel consumption that Lockheed promulgated. Some of us know that blokes like Lindberg had found ways of doing better than the book figures and Charlie had taken Amelia under his wing and passed on his knowledge. I mentioned to David the story an old bomber pilot told me years ago, how he always arrived back in England with more fuel than anyone else. David was interested to have one of his theories backed up and later I happened to mention the old pilot's name David was stoked. He knew him too. Another thing that came up was the Americans reckoned Amelia didn't know about the Rabaul airstrip... it wasn't on any of her maps. Boy were they pretty empty bits of paper. Most were mud maps drawn by navigators with little coastline on them. Noonan was astro navigating the aircraft. I said, "She was in Lae for a couple of days. The pilots there would have told her about Rabaul; surely. We do pass any relevant info onto each other don't we. If she had an engine failure hundreds of miles into the flight. Rabaul would have been closer than Lae. There are many things I've heard from people who spoke to people who where there, like, how she was so overloaded on takeoff that she disappeared below the end of the Lae strip where it finished as a cliff and was seen leaving two wakes on the Huon Gulf as the aircraft became a dot on the horizon. She wasn't going to be climbing very well or flying as fast as some would believe for quite some time. As far as I'm concerned I think we are going to hear of the second Bernard O'Reilly of the Lamington plateau, Stinson fame. Every one told Bernard HE was wrong and could prove it, but he went with his belief and found the aircraft. He got to save three lives as well as finding the crash. It's going to be interesting!

And wait till it's nearly hitting the ground and then jump upwards, hard!

The Bogeys pivot. Tires roll, so when the wheel touches down they spin on their axles and as the aircraft settles down onto the runway, the bogeys pivot happily on their "axle". There is no real great drag on the leg. To HIT the ground hard enough for the A380 U/C to tip would have the floor of the second storey of the cabin getting worn out along the runway in a spectacular shower of sparkes. All large aircraft have so much momentum that they have to be flanded very gently and if they touch down while sinking surprisingly gently for what they can safely sink at in flight, you will have the undercarriage fail, so it doesn't matter which way they droop.

You'll get to smell the smells along the way like in Tiger Moths. Had a fly of a Thruster in the late seventies ... yes ... back to basics.