Keith and I stood in the desert with fingers crossed, holding our breath.
The engine sputtered and coughed a few times, then emitted a cloud of white smoke and roared to life. The three of us yelled in jubilation.
“Now, to build an airstrip,” Keith announced optimistically.
After we shoveled for an hour, our airstrip was four feet long and barely wide enough for the width of the plane’s main landing gear. “We need another plan,” Keith concluded.
On numerous flights in and out of the crash site, I’d noticed a dry lake bed a half mile to the south. The big question was: Could we get the plane over to it? Faced with the prospect of digging forever in the unrelenting heat, we opted to give it a try. Keith checked his watch. “I think we can make the Bedourie pub before nightfall if we move quickly.”
I hopped into the helicopter and began shuttling supplies from the campsite to the lake bed while Gary began the extremely slow process of taxiing the aircraft over the hard-packed, mogul-ridden terrain with Keith walking backward in front of the aircraft directing Gary with hand signals over less rough terrain. To everyone’s great relief, Gary made the trip without dinging the prop or getting stuck.
I completed the last trip ferrying our gear from the campsite to the dry lake bed. Gary positioned the plane into the wind. With engine idling, he set the brakes and got out. We loaded our remaining gear into the plane then gathered at the left wing.
“How do you feel about this, Gary?” Keith asked earnestly.
“I’ll see you both at the Bedourie pub in 40 minutes,” Gary said.
Keith gave Gary a hearty handshake with both hands and wished him good luck saying,
“Randy and I will follow you in the chopper.”
“Are you really sure this thing’s OK to fly?” Gary asked a final time with a big grin.
“Godspeed, mate,” Keith said. “I’ll buy your first cold beer in the pub.”
Keith and I ran to the chopper and watched as Gary advanced the plane’s throttle to takeoff power. The aircraft rocked forward against the brakes. I held my breath as the plane slowly accelerated and roared down the dry lake bed, causing a wall of dust to obscure its path from view.
Finally, the plane emerged from the dust cloud and rose gracefully, slowly
climbing for altitude.
Keith and I, jumping for joy, let out a combined yell that the 14 residents in Bedourie had to have heard.
We continued to scream and yell like two madmen consumed by the desert heat.
Randy Mains is an author, public speaker, and AMRM consultant who works in the helicopter industry after a long career of aviation adventure. He currently serves as chief CRM/ AMRM instructor for Oregon Aero.
He may be contacted at:
info@randymains.com
rotorpro.com
11
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80 |
Page 81 |
Page 82 |
Page 83 |
Page 84
