 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|||||||||
 |
|
|
|
THC 029 - DHC-3 Turbo Otter
"Rock Hopper"
(Home base: Retford Gamston, EGNE, Chief pilot: Sir Iron Wolf )
But my main regret, as I dragged myself over to the self service refreshments to make another cup of tea, was that the plane was nowhere in sight. I never ask for much, but when people don’t make the effort to get here on time when they are only toodling around the Derwent area pretending to be a ‘Dambuster’, and I am left holding a courier package that needs to get to London as soon as… I get a little testy. To cut out the in between, let me just say I was less than pleased when the guy touched down finally, not even caring that I was left with a problem on my hands of a very unhappy customer. I promptly ended my time share with these guys and changed my focus from ‘plane-for-hire’ to ‘pilot-for-hire-BYOP’. And that was even slower business than before. So when the Red Lake Bush Adventure came around, I jumped to the chance to make my way there and see the prospects for employment, or plane purchase. It was here where I spotted a small cluster of gentlemen conversing with one of the local operators and perusing a list of what must have been the many float planes anchored at lakeside. There was something that stood out about them that I could not put my finger on. Later that evening, I recognised two of these pilots from the dock as they entered the lakeside café I was enjoying a Canadian Steak meal at. As if by fate they took the seats next to me at the bar, and at the time I wanted to ask them why they didn’t pick one of the many other empty seats instead of sitting right next to the only other person at the counter. Nothing personal, but I just like my comfort space. But being ever understanding, I realise some people like to sit nearer others, especially from my experiences in European cities like Sorento and Athens. So I kept quiet, just long enough to have the man tap me on the shoulder and point to his plane moored by the lake. “Flies like a crate of rocks.” He simply said. “And that’s why I love it.” I joined in the chuckle with him and his friend for a moment before returning to my own plate. Meanwhile he ordered a large coffee and some kind of fish, and the other man ordered the same as what I was eating, except with mash while I preffered the jacket potato. Or rather Baked Potato as it was called over the pond, a fact that struck me as I said it and the waitresses face went blank. Again, I will cut this short, except to say he and his friend continued the short comments about flying that plane in broken, but very clear English. At first I would just smile and nod, and then as his friend and him recalled various exploits to each other I began to listen and smiled. And eventually these gents had me leaving my dinner to go cold as I pressed them for more. Soon I wished I had the opportunity to lead a life of adventure like them, letting slip as much to my new friends ass they finished up their meals. Without a word, but with a happy grin, the one next to me dropped a card on the counter for me. As he got half way through the door, I enquired as to their names. “Just call me ‘The Brick’” he said, with an amused smile, then thumbed to his friend in tow. “And this is Coop.” “Mat.” Was my only response, realising I too had not introduced myself. “See you around, lone wolf.” He shot a wave in the form of a finger gun like motion, then The Brick trotted down the dock with Coop to their play thing. I stuck the card in my pocked, and against the golden voice in the back of my head, I did not follow up his unspoken offer and returned home to the UK after being offered a freelance position in Scotland with a small courier firm that operated over the highlands. That day, fate both smiled and laughed at me in the same breath. I was put behind the yoke of an older Turbo Otter with a few parcels of mechanical parts for a ferry operator in the north who shipped needed items to the isolated north sea islands like Shetland and Skye. Eager to get going, I dropped a carrier bag on the front co-pilot seat with a Tuna sandwich and a bottle of Oasis in it from the shop down the road, and took to the skies. The flight there was pretty routine, though this late in the year, the winds were getting strong and bitter. While I was climbing over the mountains of the highlands to get back to the strip, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A glare of light near a summit of one of the cliffs. On a glance, I knew I had seen someone signalling with some reflective material. Initially, I will admit, I flapped a little thinking someone was in trouble. It took another second before instinct kicked in and I circled back, radioing the local ATC informing them of the potential situation and my intent to investigate. I flew lower and slower and, as I began my approach for a fly by, and a sudden red streak flew upwards. This was followed again by more flashes ahead, this time more distinct in the pattern of six quick flashes before a pause. As I passed the cliff edge, I could see three people on a ledge, one laying down with what looked like his leg being propped up by a pile of rucksacks. I dipped my wings to signal I had seen them and radioed for help before setting up a circle flight over head. I was not pleased to hear though that they were unable to get a helicopter overhead because it was dealing with an emergency at sea currently. Instead, I was requested to stay on station while they dispatched the mountain rescue, but they would need to hike a good distance to get there from the nearest track. Even worse I had no way of telling those below either. That was the biggest problem I had. Without realising it, I was looking at the ridge line above them and noted it was a shallow slope on the other side, and all rock like a trail. Wide enough for my plane? It would take the rescue boys in the Range Rovers a while to get out here, the day was getting colder now, and a thick mist was forming further down the valley. I pulled out of my orbit and made a couple of practice runs at the slope, getting the line right and judging the distance. It was doable. And after all, it was what this plane was made for. I had never even dreamed of doing an uphill landing on a rock face, even in my wildest nightmares. The final attempt was actually quite good, although I could have run over a tree and banged my head on the roof at that point and not felt it due to the adrenaline in my system. I located the hikers and helped them up the ledge, including the man with the broken leg, and we loaded him into the aircraft. Then, they got in and we took off down the slope again. As I was about to pull back on the stick, the right wheel suddenly skidded on some lose rocks and the plane bounced into a sharp grove along the edge before rebounding. I pulled back with all my might and ensured the throttles were at full and the Otter was airborne, with four very rattled nerves clinging to the upholstery. I called off the mountain rescue stating I had them airborne, much to their surprise. Mine too come to think of it. I then radioed ahead to arrange an ambulance to stand by for the injured hiker, and his friends who were seemingly rattled, and gave what details I could to help. Nearing landing, I got a signal on the private channel for the charter airliner I was working for, who I should stress, owned the plane I had landed on the side of the mountain. Amidst the profanity from their operations officer, I could guess he was asking something along the lines of where the hell I was and what did I think I was doing. Better reasoning told me to leave this for a face to face hash-out. I was more worried about the right side landing gear since I could feel a gradual pull to the right and a distinct rattle in the metal work. A flyby on the airfield told me that the gear was at least there, and I advised I would attempt a landing under a potential hazard condition. As the fire truck began to run parallel to the runway as I approached, I touched down with a wiggle, followed by a sudden screech as the gear buckled under the plane. I pulled the engine kill quickly and gripped for dear life as the plane skidded to the right of the field, my left foot glued to the floor. If I had pushed any harder I might have been able to push my foot through to the tarmac and use my foot to stop the plane… well, OK. Maybe not. I don’t remember to this day when, but the plane had come to a stop. The first clue was the lack of shaking. Always a good sign as I released the side door and began to help getting the injured man out of the plane. To my surprise, and a pleasant one too, he was grinning like a child who had been on his first rollercoaster ride. Was he scared, but happy it was all over? Did he enjoy it and got a thrill? Who knows. It was not long before the owner of the charter company came storming up, right past me and towards the battered plane. Through the torrents of verbal abuse I could not help but smile too as I looked at the plane. A sudden attachment had struck me that I had not felt since the first day I get my own car, a lovely 1.3i Mini Cooper, after passing my test. It wasn’t so bad either. The prop blade tips were broken, and maybe some strain to the engine too. The fuselage was a little scraped and bumpy along the right side but the wings were untouched. And then there were the several pieces of landing gear scattered down the runway. “I swear you will pay for this young man!” came the angry shouts of the owner. “And then, you will never work for us again as long as I live.” Pay for it… sure thing. There was an idea etched in gold. “Oh you will get a bill for that, don’t you worry.” He continued. “We are talking new panels, props, an engine overhaul, new gear struts, and that’s if the plane is not written off.” “I meant, how much… for the plane.” He could only stare back at me blankly. “I want to buy that plane. It’s perfect.” “You’ve got some cheek laddie…” he let out a huff of air. “Full price?” “Well, come down a little, it does need some repair work after all.” His face flushed and burned at that comment. “Relax. I am joking. I will pay a fair price. Enough for you to replace your loss.” He looked on a moment longer, then nodded for me to follow him to his office. A week later, I dropped into the mechanic hangar again to see how the repairs were going. The body work was about done as well as replacement gear. But the engine parts were still in transit from Canada, and would be a little longer. But to all intents and purposes, I had my own plane finally. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and withdrew my mobile phone, a small piece of card – now slightly crumpled – And dialled the number on it. “Hello, is that ‘The Brick’? This is… the Iron Wolf. Nice to speak to you again.”
|
Facts & Info The first Turbo Otter. Capt. "Iron Wolf" |
|
