Flight review

G'day Mates,

I am writing to you because I need your help to get me
bloody pilot's license back. You keep telling me you got all
the right contacts. Well now's your chance to make something
happen for me because, mate, I'm bloody desperate. But
first, I'd better tell you what happened during my last
flight review with the CAA Examiner.

On the phone, Ron (that's the CAA d*#"head), seemed a
reasonable sort of a bloke. He politely reminded me of the
need to do a flight review every two years. He even offered
to drive out, have a look over my property and let me
operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to that.

Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said
he was a bit surprised to see the plane on a small strip
outside my homestead, because the " ALA "(Authorized Landing
Area), is about a mile away. I explained that because this
strip was so close to the homestead, it was more convenient
than the " ALA ," and despite the power lines crossing about
midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to land and
take-off, because at the halfway point down the strip you're
usually still on the ground.

For some reason Ron, seemed nervous. so, although I had
done the pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I
decided to do it all over again. Because the bastard was
watching me carefully, I walked around the plane three times
instead of my usual two.

My effort was rewarded because the colour finally
returned to Ron's cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red.
In view of Ron's obviously better mood, I told him I was
going to combine the test flight with some farm work, as I
had to deliver three "poddy calves" from the home paddock to
the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the
calves and threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172.
We climbed aboard but Ron, started getting onto me about
weight and balance calculations and all that crap. Of course
I knew that sort of thing was a waste of time because calves
, like to move around a bit particularly when they see
themselves 500-feet off the ground! So, it's bloody
pointless trying to secure them as you know. However, I did
tell Ron that he shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim
wheel set on neutral to ensure we remain pretty stable at
all stages throughout the flight.

Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the
warm-up time by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her
to 2,500 RPM. I then discovered that Ron has very acute
hearing, even though he was wearing a bloody headset.
Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and
demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a month
ago and was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in
the floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The
selector can't be moved now, but it doesn't matter because
it's jammed on "All tanks," so I suppose that's Okay.

However, as Ron was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the
noise on vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask
which I keep in a beaut little possie between the windshield
and the magnetic compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron
, because he slumped back in the seat and kept looking up at
the cockpit roof. I released the brakes to taxi out, but
unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the right.
"Hell" I thought, "not the starboard wheel chock again."

The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked
around just in time to see a rock thrown by the prop-wash
disappear completely through the windscreen of his brand new
Commodore. "Now I'm really in trouble," I thought...

While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his
requirement that we taxi to the " ALA ," and instead took off
under the power lines. Ron didn't say a word, at least not
until the engine started coughing right at the lift off
point, and then he bloody screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh
God! Oh God!"

"Now take it easy Ron," I told him firmly. "That often
happens on take-off and there is a good reason for it." I
explained patiently that I usually run the plane on standard
MOGAS, but one day I accidentally put in a gallon or two of
kerosene. To compensate for the low octane of the kerosene,
I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS and shook the
wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the
engine has been coughing a bit but in general it works just
fine, if you know how to coax it properly.

Anyway, at this stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in
my test flight.. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his
eyes and became lost in prayer (I didn't think anyone was a
Catholic these days). I selected some nice music on the HF
radio to help him relax. Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal
cruising altitude of 10,500-feet. I don't normally put in a
flight plan or get the weather because, as you know getting
FAX access out here is a friggin' joke and the weather is
always "8/8 blue" anyway. But since I had that near miss
with a Saab 340, I might have to change me thinking on that.

Anyhow, on leveling out, I noticed some wild camels
heading into my improved pasture. I hate bloody camels, and
always carry a loaded 303, clipped inside the door of the
Cessna just in case I see any of the bastards.

We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of
principle, I decided to have a go through the open window.
Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on Ron,
was friggin' electric. As I fired the first shot his neck
lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a
rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he had been jabbed
with an electric cattle prod on full power. In fact, Ron's
reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration for a
second and the next shot went straight through the port
tyre. Ron was a bit upset about the shooting (probably one
of those pinko animal lovers I guess) so I decided not to
tell him about our little problem with the tyre.

Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to
do my fighter pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when
, in one smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the
power and started a sideslip from 10,500-feet down to
500-feet at 130, knots indicated (the last time I looked
anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red area on
me ASI. What a buzz, mate! About half way through the
descent I looked back in the cabin to see the calves
gracefully suspended in mid air and mooing like crazy. I was
going to comment to Ron on this unusual sight, but he looked
a bit green and had rolled himself into the fetal position
and was screamin' his freakin' head off. Mate, talk about
being in a bloody zoo. You should've been there, it was so
bloody funny!

At about 500-feet I leveled out, but for some reason we
kept sinking. When we reached 50-feet, I applied full power
but nothin' happened.. No noise no nothin'. Then, luckily, I
heard me instructor's voice in me head saying "carb heat,
carb heat." So I pulled carb heat on and that helped quite a
lot, with the engine finally regaining full power. Whew,
that was really close, let me tell you!

Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck
would have it, at that height we flew into a massive dust
cloud caused by the cattle and suddenly went I.F. bloody R,
mate. BJ, you would have been really proud of me as I didn't
panic once, not once, but I did make a mental note to
consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is repaired
(something I've been meaning to do for a while now).
Suddenly Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared.
His Mouth opened wide, very wide, but no sound emerged.
"Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a
minute." Sure enough, about a minute later we emerged, still
straight and level and still at 50-feet.

Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside
down, and I kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't
notice that I had forgotten to set the QNH when we were
taxiing." This minor tribulation forced me to fly to a
nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get
upright again.

By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving
a narrow strip between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an
omen. We'll land right there." Knowing that the tyre problem
demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple of steep turns
with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was blaring so
loud in me ear that I cut it's circuit breaker to shut it up
, but by then I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned
steeply onto a 75-foot final and put her down with a real
thud. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only
ground loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I was proved
wrong again!

Halfway through our third loop, Ron at last recovered his
sense of humor. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes
of it. He couldn't stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I
released the calves, who bolted out of the aircraft like
there was no tomorrow..

I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut
wrenching fits of laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I
explained that we had to stuff the port tyre with grass so
we could fly back to the homestead. It was then that Ron,
really lost the plot and started running away from the
aircraft. Can you believe it? The last time I saw him he was
off into the distance, arms flailing in the air and still
shrieking with laughter. I later heard that he had been
confined to a psychiatric institution - poor bugger!

Anyhow mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I
got this letter from CASA withdrawing, as they put it, my
privileges to fly; until I have undergone a complete pilot
training course again and undertaken another flight
proficiency test.

Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the
wheel chock and not setting the QNH using strip elevation,
but I can't see what else I did that was a so bloody bad
that they have to withdraw me flamin' license. Can you?

Ralph H. Bell
Mud Creek Station

Sounds like a normal test flight to me. Maybe they should check out the test qualifier. If you had a good time that is all that counts, the hell with the rest.

Always important to remember the carb heat.
Have a merry.....