I had flown to Rhodes.
I had checked out Santorini.
I had made the tough approach into Samos again (See the December 2003 FOTM).
I had watched some planes come and go from my cabin at the southeast end of “Ron’s Digs”.
I had done a couple of on-line flights.
I had painted a couple of Flight Club and Air Zaire planes for the virtual airline.
I had listened to http://www.plr.org/and http://www.hymnsandfavorites.org/and http://www.allclassical.org/.
I had uploaded a video or two to http://www.putfile.com/pretendpilot and enjoyed my fill of great Greek food. (Actually, I don't think you can ever get really FULL of Greek food - "Enough just isn't enough") But now duty was calling me back into action for the Flight Club.
I flew our "not-yet-painted" Premier Aircraft Designs Dash8-200 to Athens where I toured the Parthenon and met up with a historian named Nels Andersruud. We were discussing flight sim and he hired me on the spot to do a tour of the NEW 7 WONDERS of the World (which will be published in July, 2007 on FS.com). From Athens I took an Air Catalonia 738 to Tenerife (pict1) where I caught the Flight Club's new, blue, A-330 to Vancouver, BC. (pict2) As I finished checking in the A-330 I met a man known 'round these parts as "The Collector." We began talking flightsim and although I didn't have any information about Peter's Challenges for the month he promised to find me some good an appropriate aircraft. Hmmmmmm, we'll see what THAT means later I guess.
That night Alejandro had me put up in a room right there at the airport and early the next morning I was able to take the Flight Club's Nomad Float down to Victoria, into the inner harbor (See the September 2003 FOTM). (pict3) I planned to wait out the last few days of January sipping Murchie's tea at the Empress Hotel.
Finally the package arrived from Peter with all the directions. I called Alejandro in Vancouver and he said that he'd have a "recognizable plane" waiting at Victoria's Airport. I hailed a cab - driven by a certain Brit named "Alastair" (how appropriate) who shuttled me through rush-hour traffic up to the airport. Once there I found my plane quite easily - it was the only one in Flight Club Livery! As the final walk-around and fueling was being done, I met the FBO manager named Dick. "Big Richard" was from the USA but had somehow been spending his time (too much time I might add) north of the boarder. Richard said that the weather this time of year was really nasty and cold and when I mentioned Scar Creek, he laughed and replied with an, "Oh Crap, That should be 'fun'."
With that bit of encouragement to look forward to I hastened my departure from Victoria. Once I was established on my heading, cruising nicely at 6,000 feet I called Alejandro back and filled him in on more of the details. (pict4) He promised to have one or two of his pilots shuttle me some various aircraft to use for the month but he warned me, "Do not fly anything from the man named Brad. He is big trouble." Just as he said that my aircraft was slammed by a rogue pressure change! My airspeed shot up to 330 knots, my altimeter showed I had lept to 13,000 feet and I was slammed around in the cockpit! This really was shaping up to be an interesting month!
Soon enough I was out of the severe weather, battered and bruised. I called Campbell River for weather and approach instructions but the person manning the radio just didn't sound quite right - I can't place my finger right on it but something seemed just a little bit like "Rainman." As I was setting up for long finals the radio crackled, "Visitors. Brad likes visitors. Visitors are good, Very good. I like visitors. Please stop by the tower after landing, Brad likes visitors."
With that, I cancelled IFR, cancelled approach, switched frequencies and dailed in the NDB for Outpost 13! After crossing the NDB the visibility continued to drop so I descended to 4,000 feet and dialed in the NDB for Outpost 9. By the time I was nearing Outpost 12 I was flying right along the deck, just following the river in - just like Dick had predicted I'd be doing.
With that, I cancelled IFR, cancelled approach, switched frequencies and dailed in the NDB for Outpost 13! After crossing the NDB the visibility continued to drop so I descended to 4,000 feet and dialed in the NDB for Outpost 9. By the time I was nearing Outpost 12 I was flying right along the deck, just following the river in - just like Dick had predicted I'd be doing.
Finally around the last right-hand turn I passed by Scar Creek Station - of course, being that I was flying low and the runway is a bit high I hugged the right-hand wall of the canyon, flew past the facility and then made a sharp left turn onto finals. Those trees there are pretty tall and I had to slice my way through and around them before landing...well, I didn't actually land. This big 'ol Nomad floats like crazy and I had to go missed which was just fine as the approach from the south is much easier! (pict5) This time around I was flatter and slower and managed to stop well before mid-field. I taxied over next to the Hughes-500 and shut down. There sitting in the seat of the fork-lift (gnawing on a raw salmon) was a beared man who was laughing and shaking his head. "G'Day Mate!" he called out to me as he hopped down. "M'name's Pete!" he quipped in thick Aussie Strine. "This'ers where I splash me boots with the cheese and kisses inside.
Thought'yoo'd hanger up in that tree like a Possum mate - Crickey! F'yoo'd bring your croc in right off that bend, you can layer in flat like a lizard mate." Sheesh, I need an interpreter!
So, this was to be my home, my base of operations for the next month huh? Fascinating. 'Ol Pete showed me to my room, a sparce place with three bunks and a wash basin - the toilet was in a closet, there was no closet otherwise. I showed him my map and he said that each morning the fax machine would start squawking like a peacock with messages from the various outposts - then he'd give me (and the other pilots?) our assignments. I asked about using other aircraft and 'ol Pete said that I could use whatever I "bloody-well wanted to so'long as the job gets done." GREAT!
So, this was to be my home, my base of operations for the next month huh? Fascinating. 'Ol Pete showed me to my room, a sparce place with three bunks and a wash basin - the toilet was in a closet, there was no closet otherwise. I showed him my map and he said that each morning the fax machine would start squawking like a peacock with messages from the various outposts - then he'd give me (and the other pilots?) our assignments. I asked about using other aircraft and 'ol Pete said that I could use whatever I "bloody-well wanted to so'long as the job gets done." GREAT!
Late that afternoon I heard a rumbling sound in the distance, it grew louder and louder and by the time I had myself convinced that we were about to be swept off the side of the river, a twin otter, a Radial-Engined tail-dragger and a Cessna Caravan Amphibian rounded the corner and landed. The Twotter and Tail-dragger were parked, one pilot introduced himself as "Hans" and the other as "Geert." Plesantries exchanged, they boarded the Caravan and departed leaving the two planes for me to use.
Early the next AM there was a loud rapping on the "door" (read "piece of plywood"), it was Pete with orders for me to fly some mail down to four of the local outposts. I loaded the four bags (each labelled with the outpost number) into the back of the Cessna C-195 and cranked the old radial engine - not without considerable effort I might add. I taxied 'round to the north end and took off into the soup. (pict6) I kept low, following the river back toward Campbell River. I entered the Lat-Long points into my handheld GPS and followed the arrow the short distance to Outpost #5. (pict7) I flew over the facility roughly north-to-south to get a lay of the land.
Turning left and dropping in the flaps I passed by low-and-slow roughly heading northwest this time. I thought there was a hole over yonder so I flew across the river and made another tight left turn. This time I set the plane down, not gently, between some trees and well-before the "grass" that I think Pete had imagined I'd land on! I FINALLY got this crazy bird stopped somewhere past the last building - I figured someone there could pick up all those cones and plowed through! I stood on the brake/rudder spinning the plane around to depart between the trees I had split on arrival. Undoing my belt I threw the bag labelled "No.5" out onto the ground - waved to the guy who was standing near-by and then firewalled the throttles. WOAH! Just barely got through there without stalling. That Pete is just having fun with us on this!
Turning back, roughly, to the south I continued on to Outpost 12, right on the water. "Shoot!" I knew I should have asked for an amphibian! I overflew the outpost parallel to the shoreline, then turned left while dropping in the flaps. I overflew the outpost again, very low from off the water. Low but apparently too fast to land 'cause the plane never settled - I did however get a stall horn as I approached the trees looming ahead. Being the "accomplished" pilot that I am I slammed the throttles forward while pushing the nose down! The main gear slammed into the ground as the engine spooled up literally bouncing me high enough to tip the wing around the first tree! I flew up to the mountianside and turned back toward the outpost. This time I sliced through the trees and slammed the plane down. Standing on the brakes enough to keep the tail up without planting the prop. I rolled to a stop with the mains in the water and the tail in the sand! (pict8) I can't figure out why this bird won't land in less space!?!? I had to hop out this time so that the guy there, named Tony, could help me push the plane back up onto dry land. Well actually Tony had a bad back so basically I pushed the plane back myself.
After dropping off the mail I taxied back into the trees roughly west of the outpost, then took off toward and over the water, turning right toward outpost 9. Within a few minutes I was over this outpost which looks to be undergoing some remodeling. (pict9) As I flew over this area two and three times I understood why these features were downloaded from a place called HOVERcontrol. "Peter, you suck!" (pict10) What's worse is that the mail bags were still in the BACK. I climbed up to 7,000 feet and trimmed for level flight, then climbed into the back, fetching the bag marked "No.4" and flopping that down onto the passenger's seat. Finally turning back toward the outpost I dropped in full flaps, slowed WAAAAAY down, hanging on the prop with full rudder to keep control. I dropped the bag out the door as I passed over the outpost! Gee, I hope there wasn't something breakable in there. I circled around to be sure that everything had landed okay. As I crossed over the outpost and dipped the wing the guy on the ground was shouting...something, and flipping me the middle finger! "What's that all about?"
I turned next toward outpost 4... Four? I turned to look at the remaining bag but couldn't see the number. I again climbed up to near 7,000 feet and crawled into the back again to see the bag numbered "No.9". (pict11) Well, at this point there was little to do but to turn back to Scar Creek base. (pict12) Upon landing 'ol Pete met me out on the runway with some stern words that I will not relate to you all. Twenty minutes later I was winging my way back towards Outpost 9 to swap bags. This time I was flying Peter's own Piper Cub. I approached slowly, skimming the very treetops! As the outpost came into view I used the rudder pedals to steer the wheels around the highest branches. As I throttled back further to sink into the HOLE that is outpost nine my right wing clipped a tall branch. The light-weight material this little plane is made from was shredded in the blink of an eye. I stood on the opposite rudder as I heard more tearing and heavy cracking sounds.
I turned next toward outpost 4... Four? I turned to look at the remaining bag but couldn't see the number. I again climbed up to near 7,000 feet and crawled into the back again to see the bag numbered "No.9". (pict11) Well, at this point there was little to do but to turn back to Scar Creek base. (pict12) Upon landing 'ol Pete met me out on the runway with some stern words that I will not relate to you all. Twenty minutes later I was winging my way back towards Outpost 9 to swap bags. This time I was flying Peter's own Piper Cub. I approached slowly, skimming the very treetops! As the outpost came into view I used the rudder pedals to steer the wheels around the highest branches. As I throttled back further to sink into the HOLE that is outpost nine my right wing clipped a tall branch. The light-weight material this little plane is made from was shredded in the blink of an eye. I stood on the opposite rudder as I heard more tearing and heavy cracking sounds.
Peter, the wingspan on your Cub is now little more than 2 meters per side and your tail is about half the height it once was! 
(pict13) I remember the sound of the rotors of the MediVac Helicopter...the blurred face of the Flight Medic, something about a shot for the pain.....I'm now in a Vancouver hospital recovering. The rest of this report will be written by my replacement pilot, his name is Timothy Lee - I think he's Chinese.
(pict13) I remember the sound of the rotors of the MediVac Helicopter...the blurred face of the Flight Medic, something about a shot for the pain.....I'm now in a Vancouver hospital recovering. The rest of this report will be written by my replacement pilot, his name is Timothy Lee - I think he's Chinese.Hi friends, I hope you are well. My name is Tim but you can call me "CapTim" if you would. I am NOT Chinese. I got the call to fly "scab" for some ignorant pilot who piled up a Piper Cub in some remote fjord up in British Columbia. Never been there myself but thought I'd come check it out - after all, I successfully completed two or three Central African flights for the Virtual Airline I'm with!
My first stop was Campbell River where I met Brad who said he was assigned to be my First Officer..."Okay, whatever." From there we proceded to the little Scar Creek encampment where I was told by the manager that I'd first have to correct the other guy's error. I flew a Bell Jetranger down to outpost #9 to swap mail bags, then on to outpost #4. No worries. (pict14) Yes, I did say that I flew the helocopter because after the flight in from Campbell River I really didn't feel that Brad was competent enough to be in the helo cockpit with me. Once back at Scar Creek, the manager, Pete, said I'd have to fly the OTHER GUY'S Nomad and Twin Otter for the next two days.
The first day Brad and I took the Nomad (pict15) to outpost 3 which is in the mountains southeast of Scar Creek. (pict16) This Brad fellow insisted that he was some kind of mountain-flying guru or something - seemed quite confident in his skills. (pict17) With Brad's "help" we followed the GPS to the given coordinates. This outpost is high up on a mountain top, no trees around, just snow and ice. Well, Brad was confident until we started lining up on finals to this little "postage stamp-sized" outpost. At that point he started asking for a Barf-Bag and said that he needed to change clothes. (pict18) Again, "whatever!"
We landed, piece-of-cake. We dropped off the parts, and Brad, and I returned to Scar Creek. (pict19) Later that day I took this really nice twin Otter and some archeologist (or something) named Bill, up to Outpost #14. 
(pict20) (pict21) Whoo-Wee, this place is remote and WINDY!!!!! (pict22) Again, wide-open spaces was easy. Departing from there, downhill and with the wind was FUN!
(pict20) (pict21) Whoo-Wee, this place is remote and WINDY!!!!! (pict22) Again, wide-open spaces was easy. Departing from there, downhill and with the wind was FUN!
As I headed off for outpost #11 I was notified of a distress beacon not too far off my route. I headed that direction to see what I could see. The GPS coordinates given were in a high, alpine valley. I turned right, westward, and began heading uphill. Thank goodness I had done all those Nepal flights for the VA! In less than 5 minutes I had found the little downed aircraft. (pict23) Looks like that sucker will be staying there until they get a Chinook up here! After making two passes (careful of the rising terrain and reduced performance here!!!) I noticed that there seemed to be women and children on scene. With that information, I knew I needed to land before weather moved in or hypothermia set in! I set-up downhill from the crash site and landed, just like Corchival, France, UPHILL! As I turned back I noticed that the slope and the ice caused me to slip downhill. I had to keep some idle-reverse feathering on along with the brakes to keep the plane steady. I opened the doors while the victims loaded up. (pict24) From there, it was little more than a downhill ski run to take off.
I climbed up to 12,000 feet, called Campbell River and requested MediVac to stand by. It was less then 20 minutes to Campbell River which means that we had the victims of this crash in the clinic within an hour of the crash!
Peter, fun FOTM - AWESOME! I'm not sure what this OTHER pilot's problem was, I had no difficulties completing the flights. Anyway, I hope Ron recovers soon. Take Care, CapTim "The Scab" Lee.
Please do note that less than half of the photos are shown with this report. Additional Video/Slide Shows available at: http://www.putfile.com/pretendpilot
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to develop a future FOTM in warmer climates!
