Another Aviation Story

I was telling some of the recent stories to a friend who is not
computer literate. He had one of his own.

In the early sixties, he and his cousin worked for the newspaper in
Amarillo. They had worked all Saturday night. There was a family
reunion Sunday at his Grandpa's farm north of Amarillo. When they got
off Sunday morning, they climbed into his old Stinson and headed for
the farm. Of course, they took a Sunday paper for Grandpa.

As they approached the farm, they could see it had rained the night
before. He normally landed on the road between two fields that ran
from the county road up to the house. He was afraid it might be muddy
so he buzzed the house a time or two. That brought everyone out into
the yard. There was a lot of waving but he didn't know if they were
waving him off or waving him down.

They decide they will write a note on the newspaper and drop it
between the house and barn. A note: Can we land on the lane? was
attached to the paper with many rubber bands.

He pulled her up almost to a stall and tucked over into a steep dive
for the bomb run. Cuz punched the paper out. He pulled out and banked
around just in time to see the explosion. Newspaper and cedar shingles
filled the air around a gaping hole in Grandpa's front porch roof.

That day is now referred to as the roofing reunion.

Great Story Andy,

As a freshman in High School I was told about older school mates that
were running for their lives as the "air scouts" had the bright idea
of "dropping" hard candy out the window of their C150 during the
football rally. :-( Can anybody figure out what the terminal velocity
from a thousand feet of a jawbreaker or bubble gum is for me? It's
got to be over a hundred! The FAA decided it was enough for a
violation/suspension of the offending air scouts. This gave someone
the sinister idea my senior year of dropping paper leaflets during the
noon time rally for the big game that night against the rival high
school. But as is the case with all bank robberies or arial attacks
for that matter, nothing ever goes entirely according to plan. The
injured pair of former players decided that to really upstage the
foolish former attack they had to get the gov to pay for a lot of this
mischief. Terry Roenfelt's mom worked at the county, so he spent all
night printing and cutting up a black trash bag full of 3x5's that the
pair had designed earlier in the week in drafting class. These
leaflets had slogans on them like "hang the Hillmen" (the rival team)
Seniors rule, Sophmores suck, and named certain male organ
resemblances to the school principle's er… head. Terry's pilot, third
string receiver and defensive end with a wet PPL, rolled up to his
house in the morning in his el Camino fully expecting his accomplice
to puss out. But there was 5ft 1 in, 225 lb Terry in the morning fog,
gripping a trash bag nearly as big around as he was. "We going to go
through with this?" :^D Neither fiend could possibly back out now.
It was now strictly a matter of peer pressure!

The dastardly duo, decked out in their torn green jerseys and Jap
Kamikaze headbands hot rod-ed their way to the scene of the crime. An
unmarked STOL strip on a ridge. The vehicle barely made it up the
mountain that day since it was still muddy. They loaded up and
discovered that the nose tire was nearly flat. Damn. Gotta stop by a
paved airport and get some air before the damn thing goes all the way
flat. But this would produce unwanted witnesses and put the crime at
least five minutes behind rally dismissal! At least the fog burned
off. Gotta cut some corners. Instead of a normal departure over the
river the PPL decides to make a 45 degree bank after t/o down a ravine
to save time. Uh, Oh! Nose pitches down and duo misses the brush on
the recovery by not much at all! (Upon later reflection, would
realize this was his first unplanned accel. stall!) But Terry thought
it was all part of the gag! No need to tell him. Get tire air in
front of witnesses and then it's full throttle the five miles up to
the school which revealed that few people remained for the bombing.
Damn. The duo set up anyway, opened the C150 window, took it to
redline and the call was made to start dumping prior to the school
(gotta allow for papers sucking behind the aircraft, right? Hmm, not
sure. And is there a crosswind? forgot to check. But Terry gets
fouled up with the bag and by the time he gets done shaking it we're….
ahem, I mean… by the time he gets done shaking it *they're* 20 ft
over the rooftops. The duo pulls up and looks back. It's an amazing
cloud of little white particles suspended in space, each flickering in
the sunlight. It also appears to be a direct hit. But the wind is
drifting it off (illusion from our angle.) ****. What a couple of
dumb****s! Buzzed the school and missed! To make matters worse, Terry
discovers that about a quarter of the bag didn't get dumped. So he
shakes it over some poor farmers house before I can object. No
matter, now it's time to land, and get back into class ASAP.


The dejected duo, arrives at high speed about like the dukes of
hazard, to confirm the bad news: not a single goddang paper on the
ground! "Never mind the shame for missing Terry" the sage 18 yr old
pilot says, "we'll just deny the mission ever happened, yeah, that's
the ticket!"

Just then the bell rings and the dumb-**** duo stares blankly at their
would-have-been worshippers filing out of the classrooms. Then they
guawk at each other with amazement as they both realize that nearly
every student has a 3x5 pinned to their shirt or tapped to their
bookbags. Fame, Fortune, Admiration and pussy surely await the
dashing duo now!

Oh yeah, the cops were dispatched to at least two airports, the
drafting teacher recognized the leaflets as our handy work in his
class the day before, and it was discovered we were absent from the
first two classes. But nobody blew our cover at the tire-fill up
airport. I've liked civilian pilots ever since. We weren't heroes
though because outside a small circle of pals and faculty, no-one
believed we did it (except the drafting teacher who screamed in class:
"you could have killed 2000 people!" Told him I'd discuss it after
class. Bell rang, I split!) And lucky for me, the call from the FAA
to help me never came!

pacplyer

(hope you've enjoyed my fictional story!)




Andy Asberry wrote in message . ..
I was telling some of the recent stories to a friend who is not
computer literate. He had one of his own.

In the early sixties, he and his cousin worked for the newspaper in
Amarillo. They had worked all Saturday night. There was a family
reunion Sunday at his Grandpa's farm north of Amarillo. When they got
off Sunday morning, they climbed into his old Stinson and headed for
the farm. Of course, they took a Sunday paper for Grandpa.

As they approached the farm, they could see it had rained the night
before. He normally landed on the road between two fields that ran
from the county road up to the house. He was afraid it might be muddy
so he buzzed the house a time or two. That brought everyone out into
the yard. There was a lot of waving but he didn't know if they were
waving him off or waving him down.

They decide they will write a note on the newspaper and drop it
between the house and barn. A note: Can we land on the lane? was
attached to the paper with many rubber bands.

He pulled her up almost to a stall and tucked over into a steep dive
for the bomb run. Cuz punched the paper out. He pulled out and banked
around just in time to see the explosion. Newspaper and cedar shingles
filled the air around a gaping hole in Grandpa's front porch roof.

That day is now referred to as the roofing reunion.

pacplyer

(hope you've enjoyed my fictional story!)



Yeah, right. Fiction. Here's another fiction story mate!

The time was winter of 1984 and this goofy CFI was in absolute love
with a photographer who worked for the company where he worked. The
lover boy had access to a Cessna turbo 210 which his boss happily paid
him to fly during the weekdays. But upon occasion, the 210 needed
flying for a test hop after maintenance on the weekend or other
strange and "off" times.

Lover boy knew that the focus of his testosterone was sking on a local
mountain top ski resort in southern Utah on Saturday morning. With
buddy in tow (right seat) they took 1500 leaflets (made on a company
copy machine) saying, "I love you Dee Dee" to said ski slope resort.
The canyon where the ski runs terminated was at 9000 msl. Many
hundreds of people were there in lift-lines as the (wantabe) wild
weasle cessna made it's pass from out of the sun. Indicating some 200
knots at the bottom of a long dive toward the lift lines, the cessna
pilot pulled up the nose to about 45 degrees and rolled the airplane
inverted. At this very instant his buddy in tow released the garbage
bag full of the "Love leaflets" over the crowd. A half roll back to
upright and a 3-g pull up followed by a 120 degree left 90 degree
banking turn yielded a good look at the damage. The sky was filled
with the small paper leaflets as they rained down upon the unwary.

The Cessna made it's getaway to land some 165 miles away in Las Vegas.
Who would know that an airplane from 165 miles away would do such a
thing off in even another state? Nobody but Dee Dee.

Yep. No calls from the FAA, no police knocking on the door, just a
smile from Dee Dee on Monday morning at the office about how cool it
was to see a Cessna 210 making a 200 knot inverted pass over the ski
resort and dropping love notes to her.

Yes, I did get laid.

BWB

Yes, I did get laid.

BWB

WWW (Wild Weasle-Wanabe) Fictional Story #69:

In the world of clandestine GA buzzing, this is what we refer to as a
confirmed kill Bill. Kudos on the bull's eye BWB. Glad you picked a
turbo for the high alt mission. I was actually still 17 yrs old on
that last unsuccessful mission to get laid now that I think about it.
My next target unfortunately was the old Russian tea-house on the
island inside the crater-ring of mountains of Emerald Bay Lake Tahoe.
I picked up some great looking pussy who knew of my aerial prowess
(thank god, cuz she also knew of my dismal football stats,) and
proceeded to show her the true awesome power of a C150 with full tanks
and two people. I mean her tits were so big, I wasn't sure we could
make over mountains!

We labored up highway 50. Being an experienced 18-yr-old pilot with
over one hundred hours of flight time, I knew exactly what I was
doing. I knew to fly IFR (I follow roads) just in case the rubber
band broke. Lucky for me the 6500 ft mountain air was still when we
arrived up at Lake Tahoe because after the damn timing retarding AD
came out on the 0-200, this particular frickin engine with the cruise
prop installed was bogging me down to 80mph at full throttle leaned
(and using periodic carb ht, to keep it going!) But this was a "wild
weasel" wana-be mission from God, so I flew into the bay 100 ft off
the water unafraid (18-yr-old's are immortal, and thus, have no fear
of anything.)

Better make a couple of orbits first to look for Ranger Rick or any
tree huggers that might be hangin around before the buzz job. My oh
my! It takes 50 degrees in this thing just to keep from hitting the
walls in this crater! Not good, Not good, this slug losses altitude
at 55 degress! (second mild unplanned accel stall!) Engine running
rough now…. gotta have some carb heat.. ****! 15 ft off the water
now. Dumb bitch is babbling to me about how pretty it is etc! Can't
use carb heat again.. too low, too slow! Looks like were going
swimming! At least she'll float. But here comes the opening of the
bay again. Roll out! Carb Ht! RPm! Back Off!… Whew! made it.

"Wow that was bitchin!" the blonde bombshell says. " Let's do it
again. How come you're sweating so much? Pac? How come
you're shaking?"

"uh….mummble mummble..." I say, "think I'm coming down a fever or
something…. let's go home."

Although the buzz job on the Russian tea house was by technical
military standards an abort:

1. did not drown.
2. finally got credited later for a bull's eye, a confirmed kill with
the wild weasel.

pacplyer - out

"pacplyer" wrote in message WWW (Wild Weasle-Wanabe) Fictional Story
#69:

I just came back from a trip. I was flying with another fellow who's
background is similar to mine. We both grew up in South Florida and learned
to fly during the 'Miami Vice' years. He recounted a tale from his days of
working line. He was pumping gas one day when a grundgy Twin Beech came in
from the islands and was swarmed by DEA agents soon after landing. This was
a fairly regular thing in those days. The difference about this tale is that
the pilot didn't get busted.

The agents eventually left the Twin Beech and came to my friend's ramp to
fuel their own plane. He asked the agents about the details. It seems that
the pilot worked for an insurance company and stole the plane back from some
dopers who stole it first. The agents had been staking out the island and
the plane for some time. They saw the plane start the take-off roll and then
they saw the dopers start firing their guns at the plane. They figured about
300 rounds were fired. The agents cornered the Beech after it landed to find
out what was going on. They wanted to know what the heck had just happened.
They wanted to know how the pilot got past their surveillance. They wanted
to know how the pilot got past the dopers.

As I listened to my fellow pilot's tale, I started to remember those days
from a long time ago. I keep those memories to myself though. Most folks
hear those stories and associate the pilot with being a reckless cowboy. I
have to maintain a reputation as a professional pilot, so I just keep quiet.
Maybe some day after I reach the official old pilot age of 60, when I don't
need my professional reputation any more, I'll write a book.

D.

"Capt.Doug" wrote:

"pacplyer" wrote in message WWW (Wild Weasle-Wanabe) Fictional Story
#69:

I just came back from a trip. I was flying with another fellow who's
background is similar to mine. We both grew up in South Florida and learned
to fly during the 'Miami Vice' years. He recounted a tale from his days of
working line. He was pumping gas one day when a grundgy Twin Beech came in
from the islands and was swarmed by DEA agents soon after landing. This was
a fairly regular thing in those days. The difference about this tale is that
the pilot didn't get busted.

The agents eventually left the Twin Beech and came to my friend's ramp to
fuel their own plane. He asked the agents about the details. It seems that
the pilot worked for an insurance company and stole the plane back from some
dopers who stole it first. The agents had been staking out the island and
the plane for some time. They saw the plane start the take-off roll and then
they saw the dopers start firing their guns at the plane. They figured about
300 rounds were fired. The agents cornered the Beech after it landed to find
out what was going on. They wanted to know what the heck had just happened.
They wanted to know how the pilot got past their surveillance. They wanted
to know how the pilot got past the dopers.

As I listened to my fellow pilot's tale, I started to remember those days
from a long time ago. I keep those memories to myself though. Most folks
hear those stories and associate the pilot with being a reckless cowboy. I
have to maintain a reputation as a professional pilot, so I just keep quiet.
Maybe some day after I reach the official old pilot age of 60, when I don't
need my professional reputation any more, I'll write a book.

D.

If you have more stories like that, please do!

I've heard repo guys think they're pretty tough.
But this guy...

Richard

"Capt.Doug" wrote in message ...
"pacplyer" wrote in message WWW (Wild Weasle-Wanabe) Fictional Story
#69:

I just came back from a trip. I was flying with another fellow who's
background is similar to mine. We both grew up in South Florida and learned
to fly during the 'Miami Vice' years. He recounted a tale from his days of
working line. He was pumping gas one day when a grundgy Twin Beech came in
from the islands and was swarmed by DEA agents soon after landing. This was
a fairly regular thing in those days. The difference about this tale is that
the pilot didn't get busted.


"Good, give yourself to the dark cargo side Doug, Hisss hisssss! If
you only knew the power of the dark side of aviation writing!"


The agents eventually left the Twin Beech and came to my friend's ramp to
fuel their own plane. He asked the agents about the details. It seems that
the pilot worked for an insurance company and stole the plane back from some
dopers who stole it first. The agents had been staking out the island and
the plane for some time. They saw the plane start the take-off roll and then
they saw the dopers start firing their guns at the plane. They figured about
300 rounds were fired. The agents cornered the Beech after it landed to find
out what was going on. They wanted to know what the heck had just happened.
They wanted to know how the pilot got past their surveillance. They wanted
to know how the pilot got past the dopers.

As I listened to my fellow pilot's tale, I started to remember those days
from a long time ago. I keep those memories to myself though. Most folks
hear those stories and associate the pilot with being a reckless cowboy. I
have to maintain a reputation as a professional pilot, so I just keep quiet.
Maybe some day after I reach the official old pilot age of 60, when I don't
need my professional reputation any more, I'll write a book.

D.

"But it is too late for me, my son. I've been branded a Union Cowboy
for about eleven years now. Hisss Hisss {8^# Obi-Wan never told you
what happened to young Doug Skywalker. Hisss Hissss, He got a real
airline job and avoided the dark side.... But it's not too late...
The hot-dog force is strong in you... You can destroy the FAA
Administrator, he has foreseen this... this is why he won't let you
tell tall flying stories on Usenet (under your own name, anyway!)

Join me, and together we'll write the story of RAH, and rule the
internet as Aviation Brothers!



Sorry, I lost myself in the part there for a minute...

I was called "the duke" by co-pilots when our South Pacific base first
opened up; a reference to my raging around the system wearing an
indiana jones-type hat. I way exceeded my authority out there on a
regular basis, including refusal to use autopilots into the P.I. until
the map shift issue was resolved and stuffing mailboxes with
organizing letters. I was given extra "cowboy" line checks, but
passed them all, so I know what you're talking about.

Yes I heard that Florida stuff was exciting. Love to hear some
"ficticious" stories about that area from you Doug. Tom Clancy always
gets away with it by just using the blanket statement "its just
fiction." He's carefull to change the names completely and twist the
details around so that any pursuit will come up empty-handed. What
the hell. You only live once.

pac "rawhide" plyer

I have a little fictitious story about drug running planes.

In Baja, Mexico, the Federales would take the props off of planes they
suspected were used for smuggling (if they didn't get their cut).
Anyone driving down Baja 1 could see all kinds of planes, with their
props off, at deserted airstrips all the way down the peninsula.

Someone got the idea to copy down the N numbers and find out who owned
the planes. It turned out that most of the planes were owned by
corporations and that most of the corporations didn't even exist. It
was a fairly simple matter to create a corporation with the exact same
name as the fictitious corporation that owned the airplane and become
the legal owner.

After a couple of trips down to Baja for much closer looks at the
planes, 8 planes were selected. They then got a few of their more
adventurous flying buddies to go on a fishing trip with them. It took
about a week to get four of the planes (a 206 and three twins) in good
enough shape to make the trip back North.

The scariest part of the trip was watching Customs inspect the planes,
praying that they wouldn't find anything. The paper work held up. The
planes were sold and the buddies walked away a little richer. They
thought about keeping the planes but they wanted to sleep at night.

Of course this is just a story

"pacplyer" wrote in message "Good, give yourself to the dark cargo side
Doug, Hisss hisssss! If
you only knew the power of the dark side of aviation writing!"

I'm only 2 years out of cargo. I miss it. Fortunately, many of my buds hit
the street with me and we ended up at the same place. We haul passengers by
day now, but we terrorize hotel bars at night. If only we had some new-hire
flight engineers to haze......

D.

If only we had some new-hire
flight engineers to haze......


Never had that chance at SAT. All the FE's were old salts that would harrass
the rest of us.

My second flight as a newbie Capt was a real thrill. The FE and I had flown
together alot when I was an FO and we got along great. His sense of humor was a
little on the bland and dry side. We were sitting in the Herc at CHS waiting
for some paperwork and he made a remark about congatulations on making Capt and
since I was a newbie he wanted to make sure that we had an understanding about
a few things. His remark was," There are three things on a Herc that can kill
me. Props, bleed air, and pilots. I can take care of two of those items if you
take care of the third."

I could grasp the meaning of his statement as I knew that he had over 15,000
hours of panel time on the Herc with 5 different airlines.

He was also involved in one of my biggest embaressing moments as a FO. On a
layover at NPA I was taking the time from my "Red Book" and transfering it to
my master log book. After adding up the totals, low and behold I had past
10,000 hours total time with 550 in the Herc. Bonzo, the Capt and Bud the afore
mentioned FE were the rest of the crew. I proudly announced the monumental
numbers and was just feeling like I had set some kind of record. Capt. Bonzo
layed down the paper he was reading, removed the pipe from mouth and announced,
"I have over 12,000 hours of Herc time." Bud chimed in with the " I have over
15,000 hours of panel time on the Herc." So I just closed the books, put them
back in the flight case and went out for a walk.

Lesson learned was that in Aviation no matter what you have done or how much
you have done, someone else can probably top it.

Walt