Alex Clark
Registered User
Life Long Alaskan
Alaskan Mining Claim Landing
?Twas the last part of spring, I can?t remember the year.
When I was talked into Flying the Cub I loved most fondly and dear.
A fellar named Bing, yeah his actual name,
Said he had a mining operation, that put others to shame.
He claimed it was easy to find, up Caribou Creek,
But it took flying to get there, not a horse or a Jeep.
So into the Cub, Miss Margaritaville by name,
We climbed with our gear, weight and balance done in my brain.
Bing claimed he weighed one-eighty and that was a lie,
He was closer two two-fifty and I think so was I.
Into bright yellow wings, the gas I poured from old Jerry Cans,
Plus for good measure, I poured some on my hands.
Then to my horror, Bing threw me a curve, with a big pile of blue tarps,
?A sort of back woods cabin roof? He claimed they would serve.
Now we were loaded for Bear and over gross weight,
Bing kept on a muttering ?We?re gonna be late.?
So with exhaust ports aglow, we left the runway below,
Not high at first and painfully slow, me pushing the throttle, as far as it would go.
So around past Palmer, then up to old Chickaloon,
We were supposed to be climbing, but it weren?t happening soon.
We dodged a BLM fire bomber and were buzzed by a 0V-10 Bronco,
It seems that the airspace was a definite wild fire scene no-no..
So we clawed along doing seventy-five. That jerk in the Bronco zooming past in a banzai dive.
I fought back with some insults on frequency one-twenty-two point five.
But to the canyon entrance, we eventually get,
Although by then, I?m soaking in sweat.
So up we do turn, along the walls of granite and stone,
The raging river below, being swollen from melting winter snow.
We climbed higher and higher and Bing says not a word.
Over the intercom his heavy breathing is heard.
Miles pass miles, while other mining claims,
Roll under the wings as Bing calls out their names.
?Not that one, nor this,?.. maybe a little farther.
My site is a secret and a map is a bother.?
So onward I flew with the walls closing in,
Bing said ? Maybe you passed it, now that would be a sin.?
Then he explained that the canyon does split,
Neither side big enough for a yellow cub to fit.
And wouldn?t you know it, just as I feared,
He points to his digs , but he?s? pointing towards the rear.
Of course to both sides splits the canyon of doom,
If I wasn?t real quick, we were going to go boom!
So climbing was out, we were already too high,
My flat prop beating the thin air, in the warm spring time sky.
So banks I do try, but there?s not enough room.
I tried it real slow, then sped to a zoom.
I yelled to hold on and pulled up the nose,
Then slammed over the rudder and over she goes.
Down towards the rapids, we screamed with a roar,
But down was up and down weren?t the earth no more.
But right her I did, I can?t tell you how.
Screaming back over the mine camp, in a turn that would make Don Sheldon proud.
Towards the strip I lined up, which Bing had often claimed
?Once took a C-185 here, and yours is almost the same.?
Looking ahead I knew my trust was surely in vain,
It was more like a moose path, than a gravel four-lane.
So into the rocks and the mud we did slam,
I pumped the brakes with my feet , holding the stick back with both hands.
Onward and onward we rolled at full tilt.
This sure ain?t a strip , there was never one built!?
Past some huge boulders with my brake pads a?smoking.
I?d like to kill Bing now, he must have been drunk or been jokin.
The moose path came to an end and so will this tale,
For I swerved into the berry bog, and through the bushes we sailed.
Out of the tail-high cub we did jump,
Me landing on Bing with a gratifying thump.
I ran round to the tail, pulling down with a grunt.
The intake was stuffed with bushes that stunk.
As we pushed her smashed and bushy nose around,
What Bing said then is sure to astound.
?Are all aircraft landings so likely to cause pain??
?Dashing through the pucker brush, causing bruising and strain.?
Since before now I had always driven my six wheel all terrain,
And this was my first time ever, in a real aero-plane.?
Alex Clark February 27, 2004 Homer Alaska
?Twas the last part of spring, I can?t remember the year.
When I was talked into Flying the Cub I loved most fondly and dear.
A fellar named Bing, yeah his actual name,
Said he had a mining operation, that put others to shame.
He claimed it was easy to find, up Caribou Creek,
But it took flying to get there, not a horse or a Jeep.
So into the Cub, Miss Margaritaville by name,
We climbed with our gear, weight and balance done in my brain.
Bing claimed he weighed one-eighty and that was a lie,
He was closer two two-fifty and I think so was I.
Into bright yellow wings, the gas I poured from old Jerry Cans,
Plus for good measure, I poured some on my hands.
Then to my horror, Bing threw me a curve, with a big pile of blue tarps,
?A sort of back woods cabin roof? He claimed they would serve.
Now we were loaded for Bear and over gross weight,
Bing kept on a muttering ?We?re gonna be late.?
So with exhaust ports aglow, we left the runway below,
Not high at first and painfully slow, me pushing the throttle, as far as it would go.
So around past Palmer, then up to old Chickaloon,
We were supposed to be climbing, but it weren?t happening soon.
We dodged a BLM fire bomber and were buzzed by a 0V-10 Bronco,
It seems that the airspace was a definite wild fire scene no-no..
So we clawed along doing seventy-five. That jerk in the Bronco zooming past in a banzai dive.
I fought back with some insults on frequency one-twenty-two point five.
But to the canyon entrance, we eventually get,
Although by then, I?m soaking in sweat.
So up we do turn, along the walls of granite and stone,
The raging river below, being swollen from melting winter snow.
We climbed higher and higher and Bing says not a word.
Over the intercom his heavy breathing is heard.
Miles pass miles, while other mining claims,
Roll under the wings as Bing calls out their names.
?Not that one, nor this,?.. maybe a little farther.
My site is a secret and a map is a bother.?
So onward I flew with the walls closing in,
Bing said ? Maybe you passed it, now that would be a sin.?
Then he explained that the canyon does split,
Neither side big enough for a yellow cub to fit.
And wouldn?t you know it, just as I feared,
He points to his digs , but he?s? pointing towards the rear.
Of course to both sides splits the canyon of doom,
If I wasn?t real quick, we were going to go boom!
So climbing was out, we were already too high,
My flat prop beating the thin air, in the warm spring time sky.
So banks I do try, but there?s not enough room.
I tried it real slow, then sped to a zoom.
I yelled to hold on and pulled up the nose,
Then slammed over the rudder and over she goes.
Down towards the rapids, we screamed with a roar,
But down was up and down weren?t the earth no more.
But right her I did, I can?t tell you how.
Screaming back over the mine camp, in a turn that would make Don Sheldon proud.
Towards the strip I lined up, which Bing had often claimed
?Once took a C-185 here, and yours is almost the same.?
Looking ahead I knew my trust was surely in vain,
It was more like a moose path, than a gravel four-lane.
So into the rocks and the mud we did slam,
I pumped the brakes with my feet , holding the stick back with both hands.
Onward and onward we rolled at full tilt.
This sure ain?t a strip , there was never one built!?
Past some huge boulders with my brake pads a?smoking.
I?d like to kill Bing now, he must have been drunk or been jokin.
The moose path came to an end and so will this tale,
For I swerved into the berry bog, and through the bushes we sailed.
Out of the tail-high cub we did jump,
Me landing on Bing with a gratifying thump.
I ran round to the tail, pulling down with a grunt.
The intake was stuffed with bushes that stunk.
As we pushed her smashed and bushy nose around,
What Bing said then is sure to astound.
?Are all aircraft landings so likely to cause pain??
?Dashing through the pucker brush, causing bruising and strain.?
Since before now I had always driven my six wheel all terrain,
And this was my first time ever, in a real aero-plane.?
Alex Clark February 27, 2004 Homer Alaska
