There is just something about being on a quiet tropical island that makes me feel famous, or at least privileged. The warm tropical sun, the cooler sea breezes…the silence – other than the quiet lapping of nearby waves…the barely perceptible motion of the hammock…the gentle rustling of the palm branches…the smell of ??? Coconut suntan oil? I open my eyes to see the most beautiful woman ever imaginable! I think I must be gazing upon the perfect work of God’s creation, Eve herself! Her dark eyes seem to smile, like the hint of pleasure at the corners of her moist lips. She is nearly spilling out of her coconut shells and beneath the green grass skirt are the most perfect, tan legs…. “A call for you, Mr. Bond” she says as she presents me with a cell phone upon a wooden platter. “Mr. Bond”? I wonder, now eyeing her suspiciously. Well, what WOULD the great 007 do in a case such as this? He’d probably take the girl, but I take the phone, looking at it briefly for signs of C4 explosive, then, I pause to watch the lovely island beauty stroll down the beach into the warm azure water. I place the phone to my ear, “Bond here.” On the other end is LAUGHTER! “Bond!?” It is Tony, “What, have you been dipping into Bill’s medication again Flounder?” I look back to the girl in the water, her coconuts and grass skirt floating there near the shoreline as she walks away into deeper and deeper water. Her long wet black hair cascading down like a waterfall to just past the level of her….
“Oh, uh, it’s you!” I stammer, coming now into more consciousness. “Ummmm, hey! What’s up man?”
“Flounder, I really worry about you sometimes.” Tony states frankly. “Alejandro has our flight up, I thought you’d like to get started on it early as there are some ‘interesting challenges’ a ‘James Bond’ such as yourself might like to take on.”
“Great!” I say. “Where do I head from here?” “Where’s ‘here’ Mr. Bond?” Tony asks, laughing again. “I dunno. Some Tahitian island somewhere.” I look back to the lagoon but the girl is gone. “Tell you what man,” Tony says, “I’ve got a lot going on but I’ll tell ‘The Collector’ that ‘James Bond’ needs a ride. You call him when you get someplace that he’ll recognize and he’ll get you all set up.” With that, the phone goes dead.
I roll off of the hammock, landing in an awkward heap on the warm sand. I look about to see if anyone is watching, then, grabbing my holster I take off through the palm trees. About 300 meters down the beech I see a snub-nosed Twin Otter on floats so I head that way, bullets zinging off nearby trees! (Don’t worry about where the shots are coming from, it just goes with the story – don’t you think?) I climb up into the right seat of the “Flotter”, then, as a bullet rips into the wing tank I slide over to the left side and turn on the battery…then the generator and APU…another bullet glances off the windscreen, another zings off one of the floats…I crank the engines to life, reversing the props and backing her off the beach. Flower-shirted, grass-mat-wearing “bad guys” with guns are running down the beach toward me as I tromp on the rudder pedals trying to turn this puppy around, then I slam the Prop Condition and Power levers full-forward and the big turbo props kick to life, leaving a spray of water behind. [ PHOTO 001 ] Automatic gunfire follows me across the atoll as I drop in some flap. Finally I am hydroplaning, hoping to get airborne before reaching the deadly coral reef, which looms ahead. Finally I see 110 knots and I yank back on the yoke, my left float skimming off a layer of coral as I pass over!
Now trimmed for cruise at 9,000 feet I scan the horizon for the AH-1 Cobras I’m sure will appear but there seems to be no other traffic in the area. I reach into the back pocket of my swimtrunks to pull out my handheld GPS…dialing in Apataki Island, which is not too far off now. With the right tank now emptied of gas I switch to left tank only and retrim for balance, landing in the calm waters off-shore, I abandon the aircraft and start swimming to shore.
In less then 15 seconds a small yacht pulls up beside me. Another tan-skinned woman calls over the side to me, “Climb on the back!” I oblige, pulling myself onto the deck. As she speeds the boat along she calls back to me, “In trouble again ay Mr. Bond?” I eye the dark legs coming down from the tight white shorts and smirk, “Not yet, I hope.” I take a seat on a folding chair and watch the young lady steering the boat. Finally she breaks the silence with, “You know? James Bond always gets the girl.” I smile, leaning back in the chair. “Are you my girl this time?” I ask just as the leg of the chair slips, folding under me and tossing me off. I grab for anything nearby taking the drink cooler with me to the deck. She turns back to see me lying in the pile of ice cubes and soda cans, “Definitely NOT!” she answers, rolling her eyes. Then I recognize that it’s Salina driving the boat!
She pulls up to a small marina, tosses a duffle bag off the boat and says, “Here are your clean clothes, a room reservation for tonight and plane tickets for tomorrow morning. You should call ‘The Collector’ and let him know where to drop off your next ride.” “You’re not staying with me?” I ask pathetically. Salina laughs, “No way man! You’re on your own on this one!” With that she speeds away.
I’m sure I blended in well to the Lu’au near the beach that night – I was the only one in a tuxedo. At some point a little man named “Tattoo” handed me a small briefcase and said something like, “The plans Mr. Bond, the plans!” He seemed so excitable. Ahh well…
Just before 9 AM the next morning I boarded the Air Roratonga Saab340 bound for Mururoa Island where Alejandro promised to have, “something appropriate” waiting and fueled for me. [ PHOTO 002 ] Rather than setting up for a nice final approach, first the pilot took us over the airport [ PHOTO 003 ] before turning a 10-mile downwind leg and trimming for final. We turned base, dropped in the gears and set up for a nice landing on runway 8. [ PHOTO 004 ] As we taxied in I saw what surely must be my “James Bond” ride waiting near by – a “Russian Aggressor”-painted F-5E Tiger II! I unbuckled my seatbelt early, grabbed the briefcase Brad had…I mean “Q” had left me and headed for the airstair. As soon as the plane parked I pushed passed the single flight attendant, threw the big handle over, shoved the stairs down and bolted for the F-5!
Like a guy who knows what he’s doing I quickly yanked the yellow safety tags off the weapons bays and landing gears, I kicked the wheel chocks aside, ducked under the nosecone and climbed the narrow ladder. I threw the safety pin for the ejection seat over my shoulder, stashed the briefcase up behind the seat, threw on my helmet, plopped into the seat and fired the engines! (In my haste to get going I think I sucked some 10-year old’s ball cap into my right intake and I know for a fact that the old lady in the walker was blown over in the jetwash!) I taxied back out to the runway while buckling my belts and closing the canopy, I managed to get one notch of flaps in before slamming the throttles forward, climbing out just above an oncoming Caravan on short finals! [ PHOTO 005 ]
As I cleaned up the aircraft and struggled to keep under 350 knots, I circled back over the island, [ PHOTO 006 ] only then noticing the white, “Long E-Z” parked on the other side of the tower from where the F-5 had been…slowly the realization hit me. Just like the July 2003 FOTM, here I was again, in the tropics, being hunted down for “stealing” a military jet! [ PHOTO 007 ] I pulled the bag from “Q” out and opened it. Inside where the papers with plans suggesting a heading of 093 degrees to SCIP where I’m to “watch out for the heads” or headhunters or something like that.
Just about 3 hours later I was nearing Isla de Pascua and Mataveri International airport. I dropped down to between 300-500 feet ASL and began a 250-knot scan of the forests below. Although the daylight was now fading I sure found the heads, what a great sight! Thanks “AIr”! [PHOTOS 008 , 009 & 010 ]
I slammed down on the “piano keys” [ PHOTO 011 ] with the stall horn blaring and just a few gallons of gas left in the tanks. I then quickly headed off to find a room. Using the phone that “Eve” had given me the day before, I called my old reliable friend Alastair to ask for advice on how to get out of trouble. He suggested a classic from World War II – which I thought was brilliant, so I got up at dawn, had some breakfast at the airport’s lounge and then, sporting my best, unshaven, “Chuck Yeager” look I headed off to the P-38 Lightning I had reserved the night before. It was still too dark to do much “headhunting” so I headed straight away for Robinson Crusoe Island. [ PHOTO 012 ]
The boredom of the long flight was broken only by the appearance of a Chilean Air Force OV-10 Bronco, which I agreed to follow (then I used my 6 nose-mounted cannons to splash him!) Finally arriving over SCIR, I circled the island a couple of times [PHOTO 013] before putting down, “on the numbers” as required. [PHOTO 014]
A few hours after my arrival I watched from behind some out-buildings as a bearded Australian landed his Beech Starship2000 and asked the airport attendant to fuel up for his 9 AM departure. (I figured if I couldn’t escape trouble I could play it off as somebody else!). I followed the man to his room and waited for him to finish his two-bottles of Australian wine and drift off to sleep. Then it was that I tied him to his bed, took his clothing and ID and shaved off most of his remaining hair, including his beard. I then called one of our very active Flight Club Airways pilots Dick Graham, in South America. “Dick!” I said, “I have an emergency!” I then explained to him that Hans was stranded in the Galapagos islands and that he (Dick) needed to take something “inconspicuous” up there TONIGHT to pick Hans up! I then described Hans using my own dimensions. “He’s lost with no ID, no food, only the clothes on his back etc. I’m sure he’ll be really dirty and smelly but he’ll be glad to see you and may even give you a big ‘German Bear hug’.” I explained all of this carefully to Dick.
I then spent the rest of the night washing Peter’s shaved-off-hair before then gluing it to my own face! (Something you thought only Bill Smith would stoop to doing!) At 8:45 the next morning I used “Peter’s” credit card to pay for another night in the room, requesting also that there be no maid service. Then I made my way back out to the Starship for my own flight to the Galapagos Islands. [PHOTO 015]
While enroute I tuned up a couple of important German phrases (if I was going to pretend to be Hans I needed to play the part.)
“Wonderful! It is so fantastic to meet you!”
“My name is Hans”
“It is so amazing and beautiful here!”
“Thank you very much for the ride my friend”
It is a long flight up but with setting the autopilot, pacing the cabin and working on my German accent, I think I have it all down! Finally, in the early afternoon I arrive at Z09H, there is no one else around. [PHOTO 017] I land this sporty plane smoothly, pull off into the grass, shut-down everything in the cockpit and bolt into the nearby forests. [PHOTO 018]
It rains throughout that afternoon and most of the night, making it easier to bury any evidence and assisting in getting myself really muddy and dirty. I figure any time now they’ll discover the REAL Peter Stark still tied to the bed on Robinson Crusoe and the search for his aircraft will be on, I only hope that Dick will arrive before the authorities!
The next day dawns clear but cool, I wait in the forests for something “inconspicuous” to arrive. Finally I hear the buzzing overhead. I wait anxiously until I can see the Shorts 360 in Flight Club Livery on short finals!
As Dick taxies to the end of the runway I emerge from the trees shouting, “Wunderbar! Es ist so groß schließlich, Sie zu sehen! Wunderbar! Es ist so groß schließlich, Sie zu sehen!” [PHOTO 019] I run three laps around the Shorts before Dick opens the door, I grab him in my arms, “Hans ist mein Name!”
“Sure, whatever man, get in.” Dick says coldly. I take the right seat, leaving the left one for Dick. “Nice Starship over there” he comments, “Why didn’t you fly that out?” Hmmmm, I wasn’t ready to answer that in German. “Ummmm, eeez not mine.” I say, sounding more Russian than German.
Dick continues as we depart back out over the water, “So Hans, how did you get here?” Damn, I didn’t have that one ready either. “Ummmm, das boat.” I say, feeling better about that answer.
“Where did you sail from?”
What is this, some kind of interrogation? “Deshalb beatiful ist es hier!” I say.
“Yes, it suuuure is” he agrees.
Double damn! [PHOTO 020]
We fly over all of the scenic islands and volcanos here before heading back to the mainland where Dick drops me at a small local airport. [PHOTOS 021-022-023-024]
“Vielen Dank deshalb viel für die Fahrt mein Freund” I say, waving as I head into the airport buildings.
Post Script: Dick, I hope you don’t think Hans is too weird…it wasn’t REALLY him you know? I also hope you don’t think I’m too weird because after all, it wasn’t REALLY me either.
Hmmmmm, come to think of it, maybe I have gotten a little too close to Bill’s medicine chest!
we headed out to runway 19 for departure, picking up the High-Altitude airways back down to the lower 48. I flew a left pattern with short (for me) 5-mile final into S07’s runway 34, arriving at 6:28 PM local time.
This time I depart runway 29 but just 100 feet in the air the bottom drops out and I fall NEARLY back to the ground. “I’m givin’ ‘er all she’s got Cap’tn.” Gear up, flaps up, climbing? There is only one word to describe what was going on here: PUMMELING! I was trying to hand-fly (no way autopilot was going to hold this!), trying to keep climbing, trying to take screenshots, inside – outside – left – right – inside - climb…CRASH – AIRCRAFT OVERSTRESSED! “You’ve got to be kidding!” See folks, there is a reason I chose the title “Flounder.” 
