Alex Clark
Registered User
Life Long Alaskan
Super Cub Solo
I'd flown a few Spam Cans, some time before.
But my knowledge, like money, had flown out the door.
One day I got word, about a real plane up in Big Lake.
So I jumped in the truck, not a moment to wait.
I pulled up to the hanger and there sitting in the slush and the mud.
Was a genuine bush plane, a blood red Super Cub.
Her tundra tires were big, the 30 inch kind.
And her bore prop said proudly, ?I?ll pull you out of any bind.?
Her innards weren?t to fancy, just plywood and metal.
And her seats were all lumpy, from the sleeping bags stuffed in their middle.
She sported big droop tips, and scratched plexi-glass.
And the smells of old moose blood and fish guts, told of her past.
A fellar named Neil said he would teach me to fly her.
And teach me he did, since Neil ain?t no liar.
So a few days later, after giving all the gravel a beatin.
Neil called me over, for an early morning meetin.
He made me do three points, then stingers and more.
Then while taxing back, he jumped out the door.
?Just give me three good ones? he screamed though grease smudged glass.
?And if you bend up my plane, I?ll be kicking your ass!?
So I trimmed her for solo, and put down half flaps.
Then pushed the throttle forward, as the runway flew past.
Three hundred feet later, I gave the stick a quick yank.
She bounced off the gravel and then started to bank.
It was then that I noticed, it was then that I shuttered.
I had been so excited, that my feet weren?t on the rudders.
Off towards the trees, she flew with a roar.
I pulled back to max angle, feet still planted on the floor.
Once over the spruce tops, I kicked the rudder to center.
Then got my stuff together, so a left hand pattern I could enter.
Around for three good ones, with Neil waiting below.
Then I decided to show him a stinger, just for a show.
Of course I bounced the tail wheel and almost bent the prop.
I could see Neil sweating next to the runway, hoping I would stop.
So I set her down, with a couple of small bounces,
Then off to the hanger, to drink several frosty 12 ounces?.
They cut off my shirt, leaving me snockered and bare.
I still remember that morning, whenever I take to the air.
Alex Clark
Homer, Alaska
April 2004
I'd flown a few Spam Cans, some time before.
But my knowledge, like money, had flown out the door.
One day I got word, about a real plane up in Big Lake.
So I jumped in the truck, not a moment to wait.
I pulled up to the hanger and there sitting in the slush and the mud.
Was a genuine bush plane, a blood red Super Cub.
Her tundra tires were big, the 30 inch kind.
And her bore prop said proudly, ?I?ll pull you out of any bind.?
Her innards weren?t to fancy, just plywood and metal.
And her seats were all lumpy, from the sleeping bags stuffed in their middle.
She sported big droop tips, and scratched plexi-glass.
And the smells of old moose blood and fish guts, told of her past.
A fellar named Neil said he would teach me to fly her.
And teach me he did, since Neil ain?t no liar.
So a few days later, after giving all the gravel a beatin.
Neil called me over, for an early morning meetin.
He made me do three points, then stingers and more.
Then while taxing back, he jumped out the door.
?Just give me three good ones? he screamed though grease smudged glass.
?And if you bend up my plane, I?ll be kicking your ass!?
So I trimmed her for solo, and put down half flaps.
Then pushed the throttle forward, as the runway flew past.
Three hundred feet later, I gave the stick a quick yank.
She bounced off the gravel and then started to bank.
It was then that I noticed, it was then that I shuttered.
I had been so excited, that my feet weren?t on the rudders.
Off towards the trees, she flew with a roar.
I pulled back to max angle, feet still planted on the floor.
Once over the spruce tops, I kicked the rudder to center.
Then got my stuff together, so a left hand pattern I could enter.
Around for three good ones, with Neil waiting below.
Then I decided to show him a stinger, just for a show.
Of course I bounced the tail wheel and almost bent the prop.
I could see Neil sweating next to the runway, hoping I would stop.
So I set her down, with a couple of small bounces,
Then off to the hanger, to drink several frosty 12 ounces?.
They cut off my shirt, leaving me snockered and bare.
I still remember that morning, whenever I take to the air.
Alex Clark
Homer, Alaska
April 2004
