I've had a rather prickly reception from the military too. About 5 years
ago I was on a cross country flight across the flat Dundalk highlands of
central Ontario, and expecting lift to improve over the afternoon, I had
elected to go downwind for the first leg. I dropped off the edge of the
plateau, but the wind picked up until upwind progress became impossible, and
I eventually realized that I wasn't going to make it home, let alone
complete my task. So it became a decision of where to land and get a
retrieve. Just north of me was a military installation, Base Borden, with a
partially decommissioned airport. I observed the signature-yellow 2-33's
flown by the Royal Canadian Air Cadets operating, and realized this was the
weekend the military were to 'convert' the Air Cadets I had helped instruct
to licence only a few weeks before. The base was just off the edge of my
sectional, so I didn't have their frequency, and they didn't respond on
121.5, so I lingered over a sand quarry long enough to observe the flight
operation, and then flew a circuit NORDO, landing on an out of use runway.
The kids rushed up asking to sit in the glider, see the flight computer, try
on the parachute, etc. Shortly thereafter a Major, who shall go nameless,
arrived in his best ramrod straight parade ground manner, - introduced
himself and demanded my identification and registration. The very soul of
hospitality, he was.... I handed him a business card and pointed out that
the registration was painted on the aircraft. "Didn't I know this was a
closed airport?" he demanded. "Yes", I replied, "that is general
knowledge". "Well", he said, "you need advance permission to land here, and
that permission must be obtained 24 hours in advance." "Major", I replied,
"I just made a forced landing, and I don't need anyone's advance permission
to do so". "But you didn't call in for clearance" he replied. I explained
that the base is off my sectional and I had tried 121.5. "You are required
to carry the Canadian Flight Supplement; - you could have looked it up". "I
believe, Major, that I am required to carry a CURRENT copy of the CFS, IF I
carry it, but not to carry one per se", I replied, inviting him to observe
the limited baggage area and its inaccessibility.

Then he played his best card, abandoning his poker face for the smile of
victory; - "Fine, but how are you going to get your glider out of here?" I
suggested that as he had not offered me a tow, mentioning that it is a
reciprocal courtesy among gliding operations, that I could call my club to
send a tug. "That aircraft won't be making a forced landing; - he'll need
permission", he replied. "Well, who gives such permission?" I asked. "I
used to, but I don't any longer" was his response. "Well who else is
authorized to grant permission?" "He's not on the Base" he responded, quite
pleased with himself. "Fine", I replied, "I'll have my partner bring the
trailer". "He'll need permission to bring the trailer on the field" he
said.

"O.K., who gives that permission?" I asked, sensing this was going to be
difficult. "You'll have to go right up the chain of command, all the way to
the top in Ottawa" he all but crowed. "How about the Minister of National
Defence?" I asked. "He'll do very well" was his answer. "Should I call him
with such a small thing? I asked. "Go ahead", he replied. "You're sure?" I
asked. "Yes, call him."

Now by coincidence, I had known the Minister for many years; - he was at my
wedding, and we occasionally eat at each others homes. Even better, I had
his cell number on my speed dial. He listened as I called, and left a voice
mail message explaining that I had made a forced landing and that Major ***
had instructed me to call him for permission to retrieve my glider, and
requested that he detail someone to call the Major and authorize him to
release the glider. Sure I was bluffing, he swaggered away.

I guess it was the kids who talked to him about the picture that was
published a few weeks earlier with them clustered around the Minister
sitting in a glider. When they explained that I had driven the Minister to
the field for the presentation of their licences, the light bulb went on.
He approached with a much friendlier demeanour, and said "You know, I was
trying to be your fried back there". "Really?" I asked, " I thought you
were trying to be a jerk". "Well, you threatened me; - you called the
Minister..." I reminded him that I had three times verified he wanted me to
call, whereupon he said he had "decided to go out on a limb and release your
plane". And so I got an aero-retrieve from my club's tug.

I should mention in defence of the military that one of the Major's
colleagues, a Captain Shantz, was by contrast the very soul of hospitality,
and offered me a phone, washroom, cold drinks and an inspection of the
immaculately maintained 2-33's (would you believe hydraulic disk brakes?),
while apologising for the hassle. And so I left a second message for the
Minister, and had one of the Air Cadets run my wing for the launch.


"Charles Yeates" wrote in message
...
1967, during the Canadian Nationals, I crossed the border and landed my
Austria on the Strategic Air Command base at Plattsburg, NY – touched
down on a taxiway, rolled under the wing and engines of a B52 as I turned
down the ramp. Stopped between facing rows of B52s and K135 tankers. Had
time to get out of the cockpit before armed guards rushed up in a pickup
truck. Traveled in the back on knees and knuckles to the Guard House
where I was interrogated by #2 to the Base Commander. He was formal but
interested and sympathetic because the previous week, on a training flight
to England, he had had his first glider ride.

Separating the Hangar Line from the Ramp was a suspended yellow rope. “See
that”, he said, “there are six thousand people on this base and four
thousand of them cannot cross that line – and you landed there”. This
meant that selected air force personnel had to derig and trailer the
glider. We were escorted by the military all the way to the Can/US border
to make sure we crossed.
---------------------------
1960, at a US Nationals in Odessa, TX, I landed in a cotton field behind
the Texas State Asylum. My crew threatened to leave me there – an
appropriate place, said my wife – but that is another story.

--
Charles Yeates

http://www3.ns.sympatico.ca/yeatesc/world.html