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Flying
That darn record of my mate (and US country music legend) Leroy Van Dykes called “The Auctioneer” , and which I got for my eleventh birthday, is the root cause of this page. In it he wrote and sang about a man who became an auctioneer and whose business grew to such an extent that “he had to buy a plane to get around”. Thus was born my dream ( and in hindsight, one of a few I guess) and it is a dream that I fulfilled back in the 1970’s when I gained my Private Pilots license. My first plane was a Cessna 172, VH (Australia’s aviation registration letters) Whisky Tango Golf, and boy, I had some fun in it. We flew up and down and across eastern Australia, day (and after I gained my Night VMC rating) and night and in all, I gained over 1000 hours in her. Our landings were not that often on bitumen strips but more often on bush strips on the outskirts of rural settlements or on clients farms but throughout it all, the simplicity of the Cessna made it a pleasure to be at the controls. However, as our auctioneering business grew, and with it the need to be somewhere at a certain time, the issue of weather and its avoidance raised its often ugly head. The only course left open, excuse the pun, was to gain my instrument command rating and which after much sweating, staring at my kneecaps in flight (for that and the control panel were all I was allowed to look at) and burning the midnight oil, I passed and gained my Class 1 instrument rating. With that came a step up from my beloved 172 and we gained a magnificent aircraft in a Rockwell 114, VH Mike November Zulu.
Boy, was this a new experience – purring along at 140 knots, feet that folded up (and came down just like those of a fighter landing on an aircraft carrier) and oodles of room in the cockpit for four adults and ample luggage PLUS full fuel. IFR flight is a whole new world to a pilot and one that reveals Mother Nature at both her best and worst. There is nothing as awe inspiring as skirting (at a safe distance) summer CB’s as they climb skywards, their brilliant white formation glaring out against the blue summer skies whilst all the time the swirling masses of air change the shape of the clouds constantly. Conversely, there is nothing more lonely than purring along at night, strobe lights on the wingtips reflecting the striations of rain and sleet you are flying through, the aircraft jumping up and down with the turbulence and your brain telling your senses that yes, you are flying straight and level (sort of anyway!) and that the instruments are telling you the correct story! A few hours of that and the runway lights are very welcome indeed, I can assure you! Then, in 1996, after some 2300 hours of time in the air, my flying career came to what I hope is only a temporary halt when on undergoing an aviation medical, the very, very alert Doctor (Dr Terry English in Sydney’s CBD) thought he saw that I had a heart problem. Spot on Doc, for just a matter of weeks later I underwent heart surgery and had triple bypass surgery! I can tell you, lying there awaiting the surgeons scalpel, you do a review of life and for the results of those machinations, can I suggest that you have a look at SAILING . Sincve coming back to Sydney in 2003, after 5 years of living aboard Tringriz and HaCienda, my flying is restricted to commercial flights to an from intra and inter State auction engagements. Whenever I get a charter flight from a small rural town or property back to an airport to catch a big 'un, my instincts always seem to have me heading for the left hand front door! Old habits die hard eh?? For some interesting aviation links, visit our Links page. | |||
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