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Hey Pilot! I gotta' PEE!

CloudDancer

Registered User
L. Ronstadt - J. Ingram Duet
Long after darkness falls the IO540 in the nose of the "sled" (Cessna 207) barks into life on the 3000' PSP (courrogated steel planking) airstrip of Kivalina.

It's the mid 1970's and the only way home to OTZ tonight is to follow the shoreline. The icing conditions are ripe, with two miles skies obscured at some (for now) unknown altitude in mist and fog. Fortunately the winds are light. Our intrepid part-time charter pilot/full time F.A.A. Flight Service specialist can taxi down to the other end of the steel planking, turn around and take off towards the lights of the village (pop. 300 or so). In this weather this is a MUCH preferred alternative to taking off away from town; rotating, literally on the guages, into the inky blackness from a no lights runway; and shortly then after having to reverse course 180 degrees on the gauges at some (as yet) still unknown altitude, probably below 500 feet out over the water of the Bering Seas. Makes it hard to stay VFR, ya' know??

Damn! The weather wasn't supPOSED to get this bad, but hey. It's the Arctic in the 70's. No weather satellites scanning our part of the word. By guess and by golly we live (or not sometimes).

Fortunately for our central character in this little drama, the load is light. Half tanks of go-juice and only one middle aged nice, friendly Eskimo lady. Which is a blessing; considering many, if not most middle-aged nice Eskimo ladies tip the scales at 300 (+) pounds, as does this one.

Three hundred galloping ponies whinnie their throaty defiance and tug at the harnesses gaining speed and the Sled defies gravity with the village rushing ever closer.

Sliding slightly to the right and ascending to clear the the clinics HF radio tower at 75ft. AGL suddenly the world disappears and the lights become a glow rushing at us. A quick check of the altimeter shows 220 feet!! (no, I DIDN'T leave a zero off!!) The thought flashes through the pilot's mind. "Well, now doesn't THIS SUCK!!"

(to be Cont'd...if you folks are interested)
 
"And now we pause for station identification"...

Bring us the REST!!!!

sj
 
Part II coming to you tamale....Tuesday, unless I hafta' go fly. Time for night-night here....and thanx for your interest and replies.
 
Part Deux -

Instantly and cautiously relaxing back pressure our visibility challenged aviator eases the wheel forward a smidge, no more than an inch and is quickly rewarded with the last of the village lights leaping into view and sliding swiftly aft of the left wing. A quick glance down and back just as quickly replaced with the almost immediate inky darkness ahead of the windshield as he turns to analyze the road ahead. The transition to intense focus on the ADI and altimeter is critical, but almost routine by now.

A decision must be made quickly. While only 63 NM in a straight line to home, a straight line is not an option. The penlight flashlight shows OAT at 32 - 33 degrees and the tops are unknown. Given that the Cessna 207 can't carry enough ice to chill a decent cocktail, and the sole weaponry to fight with is limited to a heated pitot tube. Climbing into know icing without knowing the tops and with the bottoms so low is out of the question.

It's either turn around now and cafefully or press on following the beach.
Our hero notes 180 feet on the altimeter and dims the interior lights as low as they can go and still illuminate the instruments trying to get the maximum out of his eyeballs for night vision. A couple of minutes after the old peepers reset for "dark mode" he realizes he can see at least a good mile and a half or two and the foam of the waves breaking on the beach in a straight line ahead of him almost point the way home.

A quick glance to the left wing tip and he also realizes his red nav light is no longer "glowing" in moisture. Is there room to go up a little bit??

A small 1/16 of a turn on the elevator trim eases the SkyWagon into a 50 FPM climb. 200....225......250.....28....OOPS! WHERE'D the world go again!! A quick 1/8 of a turn on the elevator trim the other way and now it's down at 50 FPM. AT 270 feet indicateda good mile of breakers comes into view ahead, and the tem,p outside hanging right at 32 even. No ice building. The last sequence from OTZ over the ADF right as I taxied out said nine hundred and two. A-l-l-l-l-RIGHT !! Damn near 300 feet of altitude, a good mile of vis. We're headin' for the barn.
 
One mile and 300 ft Whats the big deal! This is vfr in most places. Like I said just like Turner Classics the closer to the end of the movie the more ads you'll see. :bad-words:
 
All 207's from '69 to '84 had some version of a -520 in them.

We going to get the rest of this story...or do we have to check in twice daily for a month? :eek:
 
Part Tres...

Having made the mental commitment, and feeling relatively comfortable with the decision to press on; Joe charter pilot now settles in for the 35 to 40 minutes of beachcombing that lay ahead. 23 squared set on the RPM and MP, three full twists to the left on the fuel flow and slide the cowl flap handle down to the closed position. There. Should just keep getting easier from here on in...bit by bit. Let's slide back je-e-e-est a little bit from the forward edge of the seat here.

Practiced hands repeat a drill done a thousand times unconciously. Without a trace of fumbling, the right hand snakes first inside the jacket to the left breast pocket and snags a smoke. Insert between lips. Fishing in the right jacket pocket yields a Fire Chief wooden match. St-e-e-a-dy.... Double check attitude and altitude! Raising the match almost to the end of the unlit cigarette our Sled driver simultaneously tightly squints his eyes shut and scrapes a jagged thumbnail edge across the phosphorous head of the match and is rewarded with the sound of ignition.

Eyes shut for another second to allow the initial flare up to die down, then open quickly to light the smoke and shake the flame into darkness. The burnt matchstick finds it's way into the sidewall mounted ashtray almost by itself. A good long draw on the cigarette, and at last my "Low Nicotine Warning" light flickers and goes dark.

For the next ten to fifteen minutes I drift up and down between 350 and 250 feet as the fog permits. The farther I see ahead, the higher I drift upward, until the white foam line of the waves crashing on the beach starts to shorten in length.

i've been airborne for over 15 minutes now and I know I must start to slow down in preparation for an 80 to 90 degree turn to the left. Cape Krusenstern is off to my left in the distance somewhere and I have but a scant eight to ten miles or so before the beach makes a relatively hard turn to the east and the visibility is starting to worsen again. I find myself struggling to keep two hundred feet on the altimeter and the vis is sinking back down to a mile or so. Hopefully I'll have a good enough view of the lagoon on my left side (inside the beach) so that I can make a gradual sweeping angle across. Sort of like two GRADUAL 45 degree turns instead of one hard 90 degree course change.

Leaning forward into the windscreen, I am intent on seeing the northwestern border of the huge lagoon so I can cut myself a break. Without any forethought or conscious intent, I have now "butt-crawled" my way to the forward portion of my seat again. My world has gotten VERY small and VERY focused, yet I am still calm as this is S.O.P. at most places I've been.... Then............IT...................happens.

HEY!! PILOT!!!
 
Hey Jerry - I'm not selling anything here bud. And by the way, exactly WHAt is wrong with Turner Classics??? Oh, the ads. Sorry.

But, as I said, I am not selling anything...now...nor do I ever intend to. Just seeking an outlet for my limited creativity and I like to write. For about TWENTY MINUTES at a TIME.

If you find it causes you some level of discomfort, may I recommend a suppository??!!

CloudDancer
 
Cloudy,

I love the delivery method... it keeps us checking back... :up

Don't quit! I'll provide the advertisements if Jerry really needs them to enjoy it... :p

:cheers

sj
 
CloudDancer

Carry on Clouddancer. It is far from over yet. In my way of thinking, any course change/shoreline change to the east could stop the wave breaks, as the waves have been coming in perpendicular to your initial course. The waves have been your only continuous visual reference so far. The air is cold, the sea is cold, it is night, the terrian above the beach is a threat. This is still a challenge.

Add to that that a 207 isn't a Cub in the sense that you can pull full flaps, slow to 45, flip on the landing lights, and illuminate your way to a safe visual landing on the beach. No Way.

Thanks for sharing your experience. Speaking for myself, I appreciate your situation that night long ago. I have a hunch many others on this site do as well.

Bob Breeden
 
Oh my achin FINgertips. I CAN't be LIEVE what just happened!! I just finished (after 40 minutes Part FOUR and when I hit SUBMIT the damn thing kicked me back to the log in page and disappeared. un FRICKENbelieveable. O-o-o-o-oh I just HATE computers!!

Well. Hang with me folks. I'm doing it again. i only hope i can remember it the way i wrote it the first time.....(sigh)

#$@%in'...@#*&in'....goldanged....COMPUTERS!!
 
Cloudy, it is best to type in wordpad or notepad, then cut and paste it into the post. Saves those kind of things happening...

sj
 
Hey - Thanx for all the kind responses fellow birdpersons....and now...back to our little drama

Part Vier - (gotta' wrap this up...I'm about outta' languages to count in...)


"Hey Pilot. I got to pee" I hear her say from behind me as I bore holes in the darkness ahead of my eyes, willing the lagoon to appear in front of me. It's GOT to be getting close. I should start slowing down now. Back a half inch on the throttle, and I feel us slowing perceptibly. Two slow and gentle 1/2 cranks on the prop knob to the right and the blades take a bigger bite. A quick glance and the A/S is down to 115 KIAS. GOOD! One notch on the flaps now and bingo! we're down to 100 knots. Great. Now I should be able to easily make even a ("Hey...Pilot?!") large course change safely.... and maybe if I just ignor..."PILOT!! I got to PEE!! NOW!!" accompanied by two skewer-like fingernails being jammed into my lower neck in the right rear!

"GEE-JUZ CHRIST LADY!" I scream as I recoil to the left front only to slam my forehead into the post nav light!! "OUCH! For cryin' out loud can't you wait? We're ONLY 20 to 25 minutes out". (I'm lying, but desperate.) "I've alREADY BEEN waiting ten minutes!" she replies, as to indicate that that should be sufficient explaination. "Okay, okay. Hang on a minute and I'll find a sick sack!" "Well, hurry then" sez she as I think to myself...yeah....yeah...like you really NEEDED that last six pack of Oly before we could leave.....hey...is that the beginning of the lagoon coming into view!!??...I KNOW we have those nice airline-type white moisture proof sick sacks. We just gotta.

Height...220 feet...A/S...still 100...wings level. Good. I carefully reach under the right side control yoke and slide my fingers under the ridge on the plastic door of the glove compartment. MUST be careful NOT to move the wheel in the slightest and tugging gently....YES....that IS Krusenstern lagoon coming up..and the glove box door pops opens and (naturally) a buncha' stuff cascades out onto the right side floor.

Okay. Wings still level and a quick glance down to the right and I see one Cessna Skywagon operators manual one book of NOS flip charts one Louis L'Amour paperback with a saloon girl on the cover and one...what the HECK??!!...back out the windown...back down quickly and yes, it IS a Trojan condom...(got to be prePARED for those nights you CAN'T get back to town, I guess.....but no sic-sac. Damn!! "Pilot" Now almost whining in humiliation. "Hang on", I say. I feel almost SORRY for her. I mean...it's not like I haven't been there a couple of times myself.

Quickly, carefully, and even more desperately now, I reach under the front of the right hand seat, find the seat lock release, pull up and slide the seat as far forward as it goes. My right hand dives deep into the seat pocket on the back side of the right front seat and I fish out a huge wad of stuff and throw it on the seat beside me. I'll need to start a gradual left turn in little more than a minute now.... Damn! half a dozen out of date sectionals and an Alaska Supplement to the Airmans Information Manual.....Once again. Good Ol' Murphy's Law has done jumped up 'n bit me in the ass. Jeez I hate Ol' Murph........"Pilot...PLEASE!!" Almost time to start the turn. "Okay. Just one more second, HANG ON".

Sighing, shaking my head, and muttering curses I slowly slide both feet off the rudder pedals and backward, sliding my left foot under my right calf as I do so. Lifting my left foot, I slowly and carefully pull my mid-thighhigh rubber wading boot off my foot, and reluctantly pass it over my shoulder.

Time to ease into the turn as my feet slide forward to the rudders. WOW! That darn left pedal is cold.
 
Dear New Friend Steve (aka) Friendly Staff Host -

Surely do appreciate your friendly tips about Notepad or Wordpad or whatever. Unfortunately (mostly for me) however I am basically computer illegitamite. This, despite the fact that I bore holes in the stratosphere every week with tens of thousands of pounds of (comPUter controlled) thrust at my fingertips and a total of 427 onboard computers that even control when the gah-dayum lavs flush if you can believe THAT!

If'n the poor pax in back had ANY idea how truly CLUEless I am.....they'd pay a hell of a lot more attention to the safety demo.

Ergo your advice, while well intentioned and appreciated, has fallen on stupid ears. My notepad is in a drawer, I cut with scizzors, and paste with Elmers Glue when not sniffing it. I doubt I could find Wordpad if you gave me a six keystroke and three mouse-click handicap.

So I will fumble along as I have for the last year and a 1/4 since I got this, my very 1st computer, for my 49th B-day. Besides. it's Lent. A little extra suffering is supposed to be good for the soul.
 
To Irishfield and CubKid -

My guess is that you are probably right. I seldom if ever get to strap on a Sled, 206 or 185 anymore these days, although my Bro has a 185 so he would know. But I'm thinking you are right and it WOULD be an IO520.

In later years, having survived multiple (occasionally self-induced) near death experiences in the sled; the nice folks I worked for foolishly entrusted to me their Navajos, Chieftans, 402's and other one engine-will-take-you-directly-to the point-of-impact twins. I'm pretty sure THEY were the ones with 540's (and maybe another letter or two infront of the "IO").

See you're up in Nome there CubKid. Next time your down at the Board of Trade or the Bering Sea Saloon, knock one back for me. Couple of the finest bars I ever passed out in.
 
Cloudy The storey was great keep on writing As for notepad ask your kids or neighbor's kids for a few lessons I couldn't use this one if my kids didn't help John
 
Hey 'Cloud'... do continue please. I shared the story with a another writer/pilot friend of mine way up in Mi. Don't let anyone get you sidetracked; At the end of story 3 I found I didn't want to finish 'cause I knew the end was coming... even almost put off readiing #4 till this morning but I couldn't wait. Get a friend to put a short cut to 'wordpad' on your desktop so then youl be spring loaded. Waiting for another story-- down here in the swamps.
 
Jerry - Jerry - Jerry......Oh ye of little faith. Do you think I'd leave you hanging like that? Never knowing if I made it all the way home or was forced down on the beach. Was the boot large enough? What WAS the final disposition of the Trojan anyway....

No Jerry. It's just another of my (non)commercial breaks, meant to either irritate or tantilize....depending on your mood.

I think I should be able to wrap this up today. Will try to have final installment by 6P.M. Eastern.

As they used to say at the close of the "Beverly Hillibillies"....."ya'll come back now, ya hear!!!"
 
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