This is a Piper PA32R Lance, a six seat, six cylinder high performance single engine aircraft. After 3 hours of familiarisation flying, mostly under the supervision of an experienced Lance pilot, Jess and I loaded up VH-JIY for our biggest trip ever.
The load and balance calculations this time included my wife, Jess's mum Caroline. We planned for her to sit in the back row, which allowed awesome legroom since the middle row was empty.
The long nose on the Lance allows a small storage compartment between the engine and the cockpit, and this was where we stashed the emergency booze. A carton of beer, and six bottles of wine fitted the load profile perfectly, along with some of my hand tools.
Weight and balance in an aircraft is critical, and must be plotted against all phases of flight since you take off heavy and land a lot lighter having burned fuel. The Lance had outboard auxiliary tanks as well as the main wing tanks. I didn't use the outboard, as I never needed more than 5 hours range. Plus managing two extra tanks added workload I didn't want.
DAY 1
June 26 1999 and exactly a year to the day since our previous trip, we took off from Bankstown into 3/8 octa (8 is full cloud, this was slightly less than half a sky full of cloud). Once we hit Penrith to the west, the airspace opened up and we could climb through the half cloud cover to 6,500' for the cruise leg to Keewong Station. Like many large properties, it had a dirt landing strip.
South-west of Cobar, this 50,000 hectare station was ravaged by the drought that started in 1992. They had de-stocked the cattle and re-equipped for tourism. Rob and Robyn Francisco were great hosts, they showed us the dry lake - never in history had it been dry, but it was now.
Rob told us about a certain property owner who flew his Cessna 182 to and from Dubbo for shopping trips - without ever holding a license! The cocky was sly and cunning, he knew when a ramp inspection might happen, and made sure he wasn't around when it did. The C182 was properly maintained - you don't skip that. Every 1,000 hours, you recondition the propeller. One engine means one chance, so no one cuts corners.
Next day we hopped over to Bourke for fuel - 258 litres at 79c. Then we settled in for the long haul to Birdsville. The river land gives way to cattle stations, and then desert, with the cobalt sky meeting the ochre earth on the curved horizon.
It was our first look at the GAFA. Earlier we'd been in the cockpit of a Lauda Air 777 returning from Europe. My AOPA (Pilot) card made it easy to visit the flight deck in those days. As we entered Australian airspace over Broome, the Australian pilot Kev said 'there it is, the GAFA!'
First officer Fritz looked quizzical.
'GAFA? Vot is GAFA?'
'The Great Australian Fuck All, son', said Kev.
'Ya', said Fritz, nodding his head in approval, repeating his newly learned acronym. 'GAFA. GAFA'. Hilarious.
At Birdsville we took on 200 litres at a dollar a litre, and set heading for Ross River Station which is about 60k north-east of Alice Springs.
The runway was hard to find amongst the little hills and in the late afternoon light, you can see how indistinct it is, above. We spent a day there, riding horses. Jess remembers hers, 'Psycho', so named for its facial tic that made it look like it was about to go berserk.
Ross River is worth a stop.
JUNE 29
We untied the aircraft, checked the fuel tanks for water in the bottom (you drain a little from the drain under the wing into an inspection tube, if there is water present you drain the tank until it is gone!). I was very careful and thorough on my preflight inspections. I checked all moving surfaces, inspected the undercarriage, and made sure the pitot tube was free of bug mash.
There's a lot of checklists in aviation. Many are remembered, like this one before turning final for landing: BUMFISH. Brakes, Undercarriage (down and locked), Mixture (fully rich), Flaps extended, Instruments read all clear, Switches (fuel pump on), Harnesses tight!
Then on final: PUF. Pitch fully fine, Undercarriage, Fuel pump.
Pre engine start there is a checklist. Post engine start there is a runup, with a checklist, where we run the engine at 2,000 rpm with the brakes on, of course!
We were right to go, so we taxied carefully to the very end of the strip, looking for pot holes or rocks on the way.
A propeller strike means grounding until it is inspected, a hairline crack spells disaster when it is spinning at 2,000 rpm in flight. I used every metre of every runway, every time, because if you have an engine failure on takeoff, you have a better chance if there is some un-used runway beneath you.
We punched up and headed north-west to hell on earth, Yuendumu.
This is one of the larger remote aboriginal communities. We landed behind a flying doctor King Air, and took on 250 litres at $1.42. The fueller was a grizzled old whitey, with an equally grizzled old black dude in overalls and no shoes doing the pumping from 200 litre drums.
The Flying Doctor pilot told us his was the scheduled morning evacuation flight, his doctor and nurse would soon appear from town in a Troopie (Land cruiser) with one or two bash and slash patients headed for hospital in Alice Springs. That town had troubles.
We took off, and as soon as I lifted the nose POP! The front compartment lid sprang open, upsetting the airflow. 'Tell mum to stay calm, we will land and fix it', I yelled to Jess over the headset. She took hers off and repeated the instruction to our nervous passenger down the back.
I banked left and flew a low loop over the town, noting a flock of indigenous dudes waving to us from the oval at the top left of the picture.
On landing I was relieved to discover the emergency grog was all there and we had not dumped any on the town or its inhabitants!
Secured we thus headed for Kununurra, way up on the top corner of Western Australia. This was a long flight leg.
This leg was notable as we flew over Lake Argyle, Australia's largest man made lake which is the centre of the Ord River irrigation scheme. It's easy to see the potential of the Ord, as Kununurra is a thriving centre of agriculture in an otherwise empty land.
We took 88 litres there, at 69c, because we needed to land light at the Diamond Coast.
DIAMOND COAST
This is what they say, on the Far Away Bay website:
The Location is 280kms north west of Kununurra. Faraway Bay is a soul-enriching hideaway on Western Australia’s remote and spectacular Kimberley coastline – otherwise known as Australia’s Diamond Coast.
Accessible only by air, a maximum of just 16 guests share this isolated and immaculate wilderness in secluded cliff-top cabins, with uninterrupted views of the Timor Sea. So guests experience a true authentic Kimberley adventure in a personlised exclusive retreat like no other.
Your journey here is all part of the adventure – you’ll enjoy a pleasurable 70-minute flight from Kununurra, taking in spectacular scenery along the way.
It's all true! Host Bruce Ellison met us at the dirt strip and took us down to the cliff top eco resort, which caters for a maximum of 16 guests in 8 little cabins overlooking the Timor Sea.
A dining room and bar with a little pool, here, is the hub.
We settled down for some drinking, as you do, and Keith pointed out the little billabong just behind the beach, not far away and down the cliff. 'See those crocodile tracks?' he said.
We sure did.
"Well that old salty is a crafty bugger. He chewed the water line so we lost water and I looked down there to see a geyser where the black plastic agricultural pipe was busted. Had to wait 3 hours for him to wander off before we could fix it...."
Next day they took us by boat to King George Falls which is way up the King George River. The coast around these parts is not surveyed, so not too many yachts or boats dare to come in. It truly is the most remote place I've been.
Highly recommended!
JULY 2ND - A BIG EMERGENCY
We took off from Far Away Bay and as we rotated the Lance was caught in a wind flurry that pushed the tail left, and required a half bank to maintain runway heading on the early climb. This was dodgy due to trees either side of the runway, and it was my good airmanship that got us out OK.
The true emergency happened hours later. We had stopped again, this time at Wyndham which was a little closer than Kununurra. We were headed to Arnhem Land, and took on 272 litres at 80c. The leg across the Norther Territory was over the middle of the day, the air was hazy from fires.
Australia's north often gets a lot of smoke haze in the dry season, as indigenous tribes burn off scrub. This is an ancient custom. A lot of haze from Indonesia can come over too, if the wind is right. This made for a boring flight, and about an hour from Jabiru (Kakadu), I was startled to smell cigarette smoke from the back seat.
Caroline had lit up for whatever reason, and there was no law against it. The aircraft had ash trays. You can smoke on a private aircraft, anywhere, any time, at the pilots discretion. That's why rock bands like to charter flights.
25 nautical miles out of Jabiru I put us into a cruise descent, throttling back from 2200 to 1800 rpm using the propeller pitch control, and adjusted the throttle manifold pressure to match.
We made visual with the runaway at this fairly busy general aviation airport. It is the hub of the region, and serves the uranium mine nearby. Charter flights come and go, often taking cashed up tribal elders to Darwin, to gamble community money at the casino. No kidding, every time I'm in Darwin I see this happening.
I did a flyover at 1,500', and joined the circuit at 1,000' from the 'dead' side after putting out a call on the radio. I'd done an inbound call earlier, and been listening to see who was where.
"Traffic Jabiru, Juliet India Yankee joining circuit crosswind, Jabiru".
I dropped RPM and put out some flap did my checklists, on base put more flap out, and throttled back a little more. As I turned final I was a little below 500', so I kept the RPM and lined up before dropping engine speed again.
BANG!
The plane is shaking badly.
We are running rough, and I need more power. I forego the radio call for final approach, as I am too busy. Rule 1: aviate. Rule 2: navigate. Rule 3: communicate. I was now in sensory overload and working by the book, which is what you are trained to do.
Always fly the mission to the plan.
I push the pitch forward, and am rewarded with exactly nothing more than I have, which is a badly degraded engine and the piano keys of the runway are higher than I want them to be in the windscreen. I am headed for the swamp at the end of the runway, and it is presumably full of things that eat people.
I pull back more than I should, the stall warning goes from bleeping to non stop, and I sweat that the margin between stall warning and actual stall, where the plane drops vertically, is sufficient. I just squeak over the threshold and land hard, engine banging, farting and popping. I switch off everything, especially the fuel, as we grind to a messy halt in the middle of the active runway.
'Get out girls', I yell, but they are already on the way. I've never seen such a fast exit.
We stand in the blistering sun beside the runway, looking at the disabled aircraft which has fuel dribbling out of the bottom of the engine compartment.
The air charter guys run over and help me push the aircraft to the apron. We open the cowl and the other guys whistles. One of the fuel injection lines is adrift, having lost its bolts somewhere in cruise. The venturi effect has held it all together until I throttled down, whereupon the fuel line went wild and sprayed Avgas all over the hot engine for the final half a minute.
We probably should have caught fire on final.
The picture shows Jabiru in flood. Caroline later said she had a premonition during the flight, which is why she lit up. It may well have been at the time the fuel system was falling apart. Always trust female intuition?
WHAT A MESS!
Clearly we weren't going anywhere. I call the aircraft owner in Sydney and tell her where her Lance is located. She sounds despondent and undertakes to get a mechanic over from Darwin 'ASAP'. He will have to fly himself in and out, with tools and parts.
We are due at Davidson's Safari Camp in Mount Boridaile (see previous Blog here) and I don't really want to hang around Jabiru. So I do what you must be prepared to do when partaking of this ultra expensive hobby called aviation. I charter a plane.
The charter mob at Jabiru quote me an obscene amount, knowing I am stranded, and we load their Cessna 210 and debunk for the 50 minute run over to Davidsons. We spend a few days there, then the charter guy takes us up to Seven Spirit Bay at the tip of the Coberg Peninsula.
This is about 300km east of Darwin, and above the traditional lands that form most of Arnhem Land. There really is nothing much up here, the Seven Spirit Bay eco resort was built by some idealistic European architects, as the legend has it, who were not acquainted with the local termites.
Helpfully it is all made of wood.
Having battled the elements and the vermin, they ran out of money. The place has had several owners since and I'd bet no one has or will make a profit up there. But is is divine!
This is what they say about the place:
Seven Spirit Bay is one of the most remote wilderness lodges in the world. Situated in Garig Gunak Barlu National Park on the Cobourg Peninsula in Arnhem Land, Seven Spirit Bay's stunning location is legendary. It is closer to Indonesia than it is to most Australian cities. Guests arrive at the Seven Spirit Bay Wilderness Lodge by a chartered plane to luxuriate in upmarket accommodation while enjoying the unique bird, marine and wild life and tropical environment of the Coburg Peninsula.
The resort's guestrooms have been designed to 'let nature in' while delivering the height of civilised comfort. The Lodge organises activities such as fishing, bushwalking and bird watching while a world class chef delivers fine dining experiences for breakfast, lunch, dinner and every meal in between. Despite all the trimmings, one of the highlights of any stay is viewing of one of the Top End's million dollar sunsets.
The highlight is a tour of Fort Victoria at Port Essington (1838-1849), of which the ruins are still accessible today. This was the folly of the early settlers who tried to get established only to die of malaria and starvation.
The stupid poms built a village, and as the picture shows, they had stone fireplaces inside their houses! The local aboriginals must have been amused to see soldiers in full dress uniform strutting around, planting English gardens.
Here's a good website for more info.
On July 7, we were picked up by the charter pilot, and flew to Jabiru to be reaquainted with the now repaired VH-JIY.
Then we flew to Darwin, again enduring the hostile and abrupt lack-of-attention of the military controllers at Darwin Airport. Read the previous Blog for details on this! Hopefully this has since been addressed, as it was really contrary to the safe operation of a major airport.
We put Caroline onto a Qantas flight to Singapore, Business Class of course, which was always the plan. She looked happy as she waved goodbye. Jess and I would continue alone.
JULY 8
Today we did the long haul to Broome, via Kununurra for fuel. It was a day of flying, with a lot of bouncing around the afternoon thermals. I can't imagine what it is like in the Summer wet season up there! Winter dry was bad enough.
Broome was fairly busy, and like every other airport so far (other than Darwin and Bankstown at Sydney) it has no control tower. You listen out on the area frequency before you arrive to gain a mental picture of who is doing what. You also monitor the CTAF (Common Traffic Advisory Frequency) for aircraft leaving or departing the airport you are headed for.
We entered the pattern behind a Qantas 737, and tied down in the civil aircraft area. A taxi took us to Cable Beach Intercontinental Hotel, and we had an excellent daddy-daughter day or two.
Next couple of days we hired a car and drove an hour down to Eco Beach Resort. All up, we had four days in the area, and loved it. Eco Beach is worth a look, it was flattened by a cyclone after we were there, but is now rebuilt.
HEADED HOME
Before dawn on July 12, we packed up and drove up to Broome. We had some food and a thermos from the resort people, and took off in the first light. We climbed and set heading for Patjarr Community, a fairly amazing and confronting isolated place.
Here's what they say about it:
Patjarr is located 243 klms north north west of Warburton by road, or 92 nautical miles by direct airline, and located in the Clutterbuck Hills area. It is a small community that was established in 1992 as an outstation of Warburton, with an Advisor and a population of 30 people. The community, including its water supply and airstrip, are at present illegally located within the Gibson Desert Nature Reserve. The Western Australian Conservation and Land Management Commission is proposing to rectify the illegal land tenure problem by enlarging the size of the Patjarr Lease by some 6804 hectares to be taken from the Gibson Desert Nature Reserve.
In the mid 1960's the Pintubi people from the Patjarr were moved from their Gibson Desert Homelands by the State Government and Federal Weapons Research Establishment and relocated in surrounding communities. With other desert people, they were relocated to protect them from death or injury from the "blue streak" rocket debris, which fell over a vast area of Central Australia during the rocket research programmes of the 1960's and 70's.
We were headed there because it was the only logical fuel stop on the way to Alice Springs that fitted with our range and airspeed. After we crossed the Canning Stock Route, we saw no signs of civilisation for several hours. It was disconcerting. I knew we would be OK if we had to do a forced landing, as the terrain was mostly sand dunes and I had emergency everything on board - including some left over grog!
We eventually spotted the little place, and overflew to get the administrator's attention.
When we landed, he drove up in his white Hilux, followed by what looked like several set pieces from a Mad Max movie. One car was driven only in reverse gear. Most had no glass, many no doors. All had multiple locals stacked inside. They pulled up in a cloud of dust 50 metres away and just stared at us.
'Umm, why does that car have no bonnet but a rope over the engine bay?' I asked the admin guy as he filled the tanks.
'That's because they think the bonnet holds the engine in, so the rope is there to hold the engine in. By the way, don't let your daughter look to the east, as that is a burial ground, and if they see her look at it, they will want to poke her eyes out.....'
He invited us down to his compound to buy some artifacts, and as we drove up, someone had set a little fire against his steel security door. 'They are trying to burn me down', he said. Nice. Steel doesn't burn.
Apparently the Pintubi people are remarkable desert survivors, and it is said the old women 'gins' can dig feral cats out of their burrows and kill them for food. That's tough!
We loaded up and took off for Alic Springs.
The deserts changed all the time, a lot of wild flowers were out following the wet season.
Outside Alice we skirted the United States operated Pine Gap spy base, as it is restricted airspace and I always avoid that. these days you would be insane to violate the space. You'd end up renditioned to a dark cell in Poland for some gentle 'interrogation' subject to the Geneva Convention. Not. It is a spooky big white thing with a series of huge white domes. The yanks fly a Galaxy airlifter in there every week stocked with Budweiser, supplies and home grown food, such as processed cheese. You can see it transit and stop the night at Richmond air base in Sydney.
We landed at dusk, and took a taxi to the motel. I didn't know it, but the next day would be my most challenging day of aviation.
JULY 13: THE DAY WE ALMOST DIED
We left Alice at 4am, and did a night departure. Toggling a radio frequency three times turned on the runway lights. On leaving the airport the night before, I'd written down the combination sequence for the gate to the tarmac. We had fueled up the night before. It was cold and quiet on the hard stand, no one was around.
We lined up on the big strip and pushed the throttle to the wall. As soon as we rotated, I was on instruments until we were in cruise.
Night flying is utterly awesome.
The gorgeous dawn came, and some hours later we landed at Birdsville for fuel and breakfast. We were busting to use the toilet, having not left so early before. It must have looked funny, seeing the aircraft taxi as close as possible to the toilet and us jumping out so fast! We were both yelling in delight once we unloaded our bladders.
Now full of everything, especially a big Birdsville Hotel brekky, we took off for Bourke. An hour out of Bourke we encountered some cloud that quickly went to 8/8 Octas. I was on top, and took note of where the cloud had started.
I knew Bourke was at a low elevation, on the Darling River, and the only obstruction was a radio tower. That meant my lowest safe altitude was a comfortable 1,000 feet above ground level, and that presumed I was going to descend through clouds - contrary to the visual flight rules.
My discontent grew by the minute as we approached Bourke, with no let up - just clouds below us. A carpet of them without break. I was getting quite disturbed, but hid this from the happy 12 year old next to me.
She was the best co-pilot, sorting and handing me the WAC charts (maps) and local area charts, along with frequency charts and the ERSA - En Route Supplement, a book of airfield information. Flying requires a LOT of paperwork, and organisation.
My alternate airport was Cobar, and I had maybe enough fuel to get there.
Over Bourke, I let down into the cloud, full of unease. There was no one around on any frequency, so I put out a radio call and just prayed. Had some cowboy decided to also do what I was doing, we may well have met in that cloud.
At lowest safe I looked up from the instruments and had no visibility at all.
I had no choice, I had to climb back up and abort all ideas of landing at Bourke.
I came out of the clouds, and set course to Cobar. 'Fly the plan', I told myself. I got onto the area frequency and asked if anyone had a weather report for Cobar. A guy flying a charter said 'yer, eight eights to the ground', meaning worse than Bourke.
My heart sunk. My daughter I adore was sitting next to me.
I turned towards Dubbo, knowing we had less than 70 minutes fuel left, and 2.0 hours flying time to get there.
What choices did I have? At Bourke, I should have turned west again and found the cloud edge, slipped under, and done a precautionary landing on a road. If I could find one, without power lines. If the cloud hadn't built up further to the west. If, if, if.
Now I was too committed.
I flew on to oblivion, keeping my daughter's spirits up as I did it. Ever see the movie where the guy convinces his little boy the prison camp they are in is just a big joke? You a parent? You know how I felt.
Nyngan was coming up and I resolved to do another descent into cloud to the LSALT. What did I have to lose? I grabbed the ERSA from Jess and looked at the WAC chart to find obstructions. I calculated a LSALT and was on descent when the clouds opened up to show me the runway!
Like at Boroloola.
We were saved! Do you see some divine intervention here? My daughter Jess grew up to become an ordained church minister, she is now 28 with children of her own.
THE FINAL DAY
July 14 dawned grey and wet at Nyngan, but we could fly legally under the cloud to Dubbo. I'd decided ahead of time that given my previous experiences it was unlikely we could fly VFR over the mountains, so I had a commercial pilot fly up on a scheduled flight (at great expense) to meet us at Dubbo.
He walked out of the terminal and we shook hands.
'Looks very marginal, even for me', he said. It seems the weather at Bankstown was the problem, below legal minimum even for an instrument approach!
We took off anyway to 'have a look', and once airborne got some sit-reps from others. It was not going to happen. Back we went.
Our big trip ended at Dubbo. We hired a car, and the three of us drove 5 hours to Sydney.
Two days later, when the weather lifted, the commercial pilot drive back to Dubbo and flew the Lance home. The trip cost a LOT of money!
EPILOGUE
In 2005 I came up for another biennial flight review, did the theory exam and decided on the spot not to take the flight test. I hung up my wings, reasoning I'd done all I wanted to do.
I don't regret it. I wasn't flying enough. The legal minimums were three take off and landings per three months, which is no where near safe enough. I was losing recency, hadn't flown nights for a few years, and felt my life was moving on.
I'd just met Karen, who was to become my third wife. She has two lovely boys, and I didn't want them or her in a light aircraft.
