Kijk eens aan, geachte Dames en Heren.

Diana heeft nu wel de laatste drempel weg genomen. Niets staat u meer in de weg om uw belevenissen op het toetsenbord in te kloppen. Van verschillende kanten ben ik de laatste tijd benaderd om weer een belevenis te plaatsen. Stond op het punt het vandaag te doen, maar zie, een ESP, Extra Sensory Perception, van Diana liet mij even talmen.en voila, een passende rubriek.

Art gaat nu niet de eerste zijn, het woord is aan Flying Dutchman en Consorten die al op dit board aktief zijn sinds Lindbergh de oceaan over stak.
Als een verhaal aan de toog moeiteloos over uw lippen rolt en u hebt vroeger leren schrijven dan heb ik nog een tip om het laatste stukje plankenkoorst weg te nemen.

Pak je logbook, sla het willekeurig open en beleef een vlucht opnieuw. Doe dat een paar keer en er zit geheid een verhaal aan tekomen. Verplaats je vervolgens naar een denkbeeldige kroeg waar je met wat gelijkgestemde lieden aan de toog hangt. Hangt, rechter elleboog op de toog, rechter voet op de koperen stang. Dubbele Chivas Regal en Hajenius sigaartje onder handbereik. (Gaat waarschijnlijk ook met een non stimulating beverage, maar daar heb ik niet zo veel ervaring in).
En dan vertellen. Maar aangezien je met die whiskey en sigaar in werkelijkheid thuis zit
schrijf je het op. Zo makkelijk is dat. Het verhaal een dag laten liggen en dan alleen nog maar de evidente spel fouten er uit halen.

Presto. Insturen en let the fun begin.

Art

"Art gaat nu niet de eerste zijn, het woord is aan Flying Dutchman en Consorten die al op dit board aktief zijn sinds Lindbergh de oceaan over stak."
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Mijnheer Art,

U wilt hier toch niet mee suggereren dat Diana als "moeder des huizes" van het PBB in de zelefde leeftijds catagorie als wijlen de heer Lindbergh valt? Laatste keer dat ik een foto van Diana zag, zag ze er nog uit als een jonge godin!

Ondergetekende gaat nu onder de wol, morgen moet er geld verdien worden (en uitgegeven worden in Las Vegas de komende 3 dagen) daarna komt er een verhaal van mijn kant..

Hieronder een verhaal dat ik de lezers van dit board niet wil onthouden (CP van een ander board)

Regards,
FD
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As for myself, well, I don't hold a candle to these gentlemen but I think I have something to offer. I spent three years living in the bush. That's three times longer than most. And I've got a few stories. Some I'm comfortable sharing on the internet. Some you'll only pry out of me after lots of whiskey and only if you're buying.

So, in the spirit of Hangar Flying, a favorite pastime of pilots everywhere, I'd like to open this thread to every pilot, no matter what his background. Military, airline, bush, drug runner, traffic watch, hurricane chaser, airshow and recreational pilots are *all* encouraged to tell us a story.

Don't worry about braggin'. As they say, if you did it, it ain't braggin'. And don't worry about telling the proverbial "fish story." We're all adults we can sort fact from fiction.

All you gotta do is start with: "There I was..."

...about this time of the year in 1998. I was a fairly new Skyvan pilot. If you're not familiar with the Shorts Skyvan, think of the Sherpa's little brother. Or you can check out the actual airplane here and here.

The Skyvan has a MGTOW of 12,500# and about 3.5 hours of fuel. We'd fly it around single pilot with a GPS and a marine radio that was wired into the audio panel so that we could talk with our agents in the village.

One of the first things I'd do after I walked into work was look up at the dry erase board and check for company NOTAMs. Our pilots would make notes about runway conditions mostly: "Mud six inches deep" "Rwy soft S end" "Water over ice, Brak Act Nil" etc.

On this particular morning there was a note about a lost snow machiner. He was supposed to be going to Kipnuk a Yupik village about 80 miles SE of Bethel. The dispatcher informs me my plane is loaded for Kipnuk and I'm taking Brian, the FNG, along to train on the empty Part 91 leg back.

Great.

So we load up and blast off on the 215 radial. We're cruising along at 1000 or 1500 feet or so over the frozen tundra.

In case you've never experienced tundra all you need to know is that in the winter the landscape is perfectly lunar. Thousands of frozen lakes take the appearance of shallow craters. There is nothing to pose as an obstacle not even a tree. There are occasional bluffs and knolls but nothing over 50 feet. In the summer time the tundra is basically a bog--almost swampy--covered with short compact bushes. Southwest Alaska in the summertime is heaven for mosquitoes and migratory ducks and geese. In the winter, some say it's hell frozen over.

At any rate as we approach the coast the weather begins to be influenced by the Bering Sea. It doesn't matter that pack ice extends for hundreds of miles from the coast. There is still a transition from the continental climate of Bethel to a maritime climate of Kipnuk. And with that transition comes the expected low clouds.

I descended lower and lower to stay out of the clouds but I didn't alter my course. It was kind of a personal thing but I hated being off a straight line between Bethel and any village I was flying to. And for good reason I felt. One, if I were to crash, search and rescue would be looking on that line. I rarely took scenic diversions. Two, the Skyvan didn't have much endurance and those Garretts suck down more fuel the lower you go. So my entire game plane from brake release was always to fly the straightest most efficient course out and back.

To be perfectly honest I didn't care very much about the lost snow machiner. If he was smart he would've dressed properly and I'm not going to put myself at risk flying all over the tundra looking for him.

I had just let Brian, the FNG, know that I was gonna stay on course and just planned to drop the load in Kipnuk and go home when the clouds pretty much went straight to the ground. It was just plain foggy now and I told Brian that I was gonna stay inside on the gauges but let me know if he sees anything--or anyone.

After a few miles of this I just sort of mumbled, "That guy is gonna be real lucky if anybody finds him," and just then the fog lifted into what looked like a perfect dome. We easily had a mile or a mile and half visibility and just as I looked up something out of the corner of my left eye caught my attention.

"Holy crap. There he is."

I couldn't believe it. He was heavily dressed in insulated coveralls with big heavy boots and mittens and waving at us like we were passengers on the Queen Mary headed for Ellis Island.

I pulled the power back, came foward on the speed levers and drop a notch of flaps. We circles a few times just to let him know we saw him there and to give Brian a couple seconds to save our position in the GPS.

On the last circle, the guy on the ground who had been waving like a lunatic then fell flat on his back spread eagle. He looked like he was going to make snow angels or something. I actually got a little concerned at this point.

So I asked Brian to call our agent on the marine radio and let them know we found the lost snowmachiner. The agent could then notify the Village Public Safety Officer (equivalent to town sheriff) who could go pick him up.

We were only 15 miles from Kipnuk. A short snow machine ride but an almost impossible walk without any discernible landmarks to guide your direction.

After we landed Brian passed on the Lat and Long to the VPSO and they immediately buzzed en route to make the pick up.

The whole time back to Bethel I just shook my head at the guy's luck. I never altered course and I only took a half-hearted approach to looking for the guy. Either we see him or we don't. That was my attitude.

When we got back to Bethel the dispatcher told me the guy had called to say thanks but I missed the call. It didn't really matter though because the more I thought about the way he fell back spread eagle the more I realize he was probably just showing his relief. I knew he was grateful even without the phone call.

So how about you? What's your story?
====

I had just upgraded to Captain on the Saab 340 and with no seniority was called out on reserve to fly the last leg out of the hub to an outstation on a holiday evening. After signing in I walked to the gate to grab the release and head out to the aircraft. As I was about to go out the door to the aircraft this attractive middle-aged woman walks up to me and asks if I'm the Captain flying the flight to the outstation. I told her I was. She proceeds to tell me how she's been at the airport all day trying to non-rev on a flight but keeps getting bumped due to the aircraft being weight restricted due to heavy passenger loads and fuel. She then tells me that she'll do "anything" to get on the plane as she has to get home tonight to be at work in the morning. Being a commuter myself I sympathize with her plight. I looked at the release and saw that dispatch had given me a second alternate that wasn't needed. I went over to the gate agent with the woman and asked her what number this woman was on the standby list. The agent told me that she was the only one but that it wasn't looking good since I was going to have have to bump 2 revenue passengers because of all the extra fuel I was carrying. I called dispatch and asked about dropping the second alternate. He tells me that not only don't I need the second alternate but with a wind shift at my destination the weather has cleared and we can drop the first alternate also if I want. He sends a new release with the changes and I tell the the agent to put on the two revenue passengers that were going to get bumped plus the non-rev. The non-rev asks for my name, which I give her thinking she'll send a thank you note to the chief pilot.

We load up everybody and blast off to the outstation. When we get there it's severe clear out and we land with no problems. As the passengers deplane the non-rev sticks her head in the cockpit and thanks me and the F/O for getting her on the plane. She then asks if we're going to the overnight. I said yes and she asked where we stayed. I told her and she said that's a nice hotel and off she goes.

The F/O, F/A and I head out to the front of the terminal and catch the shuttle van to the hotel. We check in and head to our rooms.

I'm in my room about 15 minutes when the phone rings... It's the non-rev passenger asking if she can come up. I give her the room number and a moment later there's a knock at the door. She spent the next four hours personally thanking me for calling dispatch and getting her on the flight. I offered to let her spend the night but she reminded me she needed to be at work in the morning so she dressed and left. She never did send the thank you note to chief pilot but I have one of those once in a life time memories!