A walk through medieval streets and Roman roads


Click to play Ancient Streets
Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox
Make a Smilebox slideshow
Posted in Euro travel, photographs, Smile Box, World Travel | Tagged | Leave a comment

Would they ever have guessed?

One of the helicopter companies I worked for in the ’70’s was a struggling Ma & Pa outfit that had started with a dream and not enough capitol. I was a low time pilot, with son number one just one year old and leaving home to fly in the bush was not an option.

Arrow-Smith Helicopters had started a new, two helicopter operation about 30 miles from our home. The company flew ag, (agricultural aerial spraying) and anything else that would make a buck. Arrow-Smith needed a second pilot and I got the job.

I had never flown ag but after flying low and slow over seed corn I had the basic concept. Corn pollination as it was known, involved flying around with a seed company field man and zipping down the rows of male corn plants blowing the pollen all over the tasseled female corn. We flew with the doors off for ventilation and the pollen got me sneezing as we pulled up and back down the rows. I hoped that I would be able to stay away from the pesticides that I knew I would be spraying when we got busier. Sneezing was bad enough but some of the insecticides we used could kill you or at least make you wish you were dead.

The day arrived when my boss told me to fly a couple of clean out loads on a field he had just sprayed. After I shutdown I received some quick pointers from the expert and was told to load light on the next job and try not to kill myself. That piece of sage advice has followed me my entire career and is usually given in place of adequate preparation and training.

When we were not spraying, corn pollinating, frost flying or towing banners we lifted things; did light house crew changes and my least favorite, gave rides. Joy rides at county fairs, car dealerships, shopping Malls and plowing matches. It was farm country.

After spraying tomatoes all week I was sick of looking at them. Unfortunately for me the Leamington County Fair was on that weekend. Me and my little Bell 47 would be giving rides from the fairgrounds racetrack, circling the Heinz factory and the City water tower that boasted, “Tomato Capitol of Canada”, whooppee!

Saturday morning at the fair and we already had a big line of customers waiting. Two people for three minutes, unload, load and go again. Stopped for refueling my cash taker/loader walked over and told me that a lady in line wanted to talk to me. Exiting through our snow fence opening in the make shift heliport I spotted the lady in the yellow dress. A farmers wife with that familiar lighter colored forehead that farmers get from wearing a cap for 12 hours driving a tomato picking rig or tomato dump truck.

She couldn’t have been more than 5 foot three and what made her look even smaller was the gorilla like man she held onto with her left hand. On second glance I could see that he was a boy in a big mans body.

The lady smiled and explained about her boy. “He has been terribly excited the whole time you have been flying. He will be no trouble.” I told her that they were  welcome to fly and cautioned my loader when we were out of ear shot about making sure he didn’t climb up on the skids, kept his arms down and for God’s sake don’t let him grab the door to pull himself inside.

I knew then, that I should have taken a few moments to let them do a practice loading but there was a big lineup and well; I had yet to see as many things go wrong, as I have, thirty years later.

more to come… tomorrow

Posted in Flying Stories, Helicopter Pilot | Tagged | Leave a comment

Caves and Caverns

The Grotte di Toirano chamber wall

Blame Mr. Leonard my fifth grade teacher for introducing me to Pierre Berton’s book, “The Secret World of OG “. I have been interested in the underworld ever since. The underworld of caves and caverns was a fantastic concept. A world under the earth that creatures inhabited and people visited on rare magical occasions. It was fiction of course and at the age of eleven I may not have been worldly, but I certainly possessed enough street smarts not to ask my teacher if such places really existed. I would have been laughed at and ridiculed by my classmates.

I should have asked.

Two years later my Father took me and my younger brother and sisters in our first cavern. I had found a new world.

We could ask questions of our guide on our underworld tour. I had a question burning a hole in my brain if I could summon the courage to ask it. I remember raising my hand, which I quickly pulled down too late. The guide, smiling, said “yes”? ” Will we see the end of the cavern” ?, I managed.

The Luray Cavern

The guide answered with the statement “that the end of the cavern and its many passages has never been found.” It was the answer I had hoped for ! Trolls ,could be here ! All these years later, I laugh thinking about my naive fantasy but my interest in caves and caverns hasn’t dimmed.

When Paula and I research  upcoming travel these days, caverns are “Googled” along with RV parks, Hotels and cheap diesel, ( now there’s a fantasy for you).

A few days ago we visited the Grotte di Toirano. Our tour of this cavern conducted in Italian was interesting but the likelihood of me summoning the courage to ask a question in Italian was more unlikely than ever. Paula lacks the social fears that keep me as silent and rigid as the stalagmite I stand near.

Our guide politely answers a couple of questions in English which allows us to see the stone embedded Cro-Magnon hand and footprints we may have missed otherwise. We decide to become tail-end-charlies in the group. Paula is hoping to get some video which we have alternately translated as not allowed or not allowed with the use of a flash.The official looking man bringing up the rear of the tour notes our delay tactics and so Paula engages him in English conversation. He is happy to talk and points out unusually formed stalactites that are rounded like melting ,dripping, Mozzarella cheese. A fitting Italian analogy but despite his twenty years as a guide in this Grotte he is still very animated when he points out the next find. Below us in a partially excavated pit lay the fossilized bones of more than a hundred giant prehistoric bears.

Legs ,ribs and even a skull with teeth that would have bit through a Cro- Magnon arm like a chiken bone. On the walls were the sooted hand prints from the cave mans torches. Had they ventured into the cave during hibernation season to hunt bear ? It would have been a very desperate and starving man that tried. The bears were  three times the size of todays Grizzlies.

Our tail end guide decided to let us shoot some photos and I used a low light setting on the camera and disabled the flash. We had no sooner started filming when the back of the line Italians spotting our picture taking pulled out cameras quicker than a stiletto in the wrong neighborhood. Our guide was not impressed with his countrymen  and their flashing cameras but he reconciled the situation with the standard Italian shrug.

It had been another fantastic cavern tour and the hour and a half seemed too short.  We thanked our guide for his English tour.

Earlier this year we had toured a cavern in Belize that required swimming, wading and climbing upstream with miners helmets and flashlights for more than a mile.  Sock footed  we trekked amongst Mayan pottery and long since sacrificed Mayans,their skeletons embedded in the calcified cavern floor. A Mayan temple in a cavern!

As a youth of thirteen I had imagined all sorts of fantastic sights to behold in the underworld. What I have seen after all these years of visiting caves and caverns has surpassed my youthful fantasies and the trolls are all above ground.

Posted in World Travel | Tagged | Leave a comment

Insulated Life

At work one of my coworkers commented on my shabby laptop. It has a lot of miles on it and it works, I said. Besides, I am fortunate to have a computer.
Most people in the world don’t have a computer at all. In my travels I notice that in many countries most people who are even fortunate enough to use a computer use a public or rented computer.
My coworker told me that he didn’t know anyone who didn’t own at least one computer. That may be I said ,but your little corner of the world is very wealthy and most of the world is not.
So what percentage of people in the world own a computer? Most people guess a very high number. One person I asked, guessed 30 % !  I told him that only 30% of the world population is literate so he may want to revise his guess much lower.
As near as I can determine, way  less than 1 % of the world population owns a computer. So if you have a computer at all you are definitely in the “lucky” ? , minority.

Here are the numbers: The world’s population = 6,602,224,175
# of people with computer = 365,000,000

Divide # of people with computers by the population to get 0.0552843996697522%

Thirty percent ? Nice insulated life he leads.

Posted in Random rantings | Leave a comment

Family Man

I struggled to follow the childrens conversation. Excited and animated the two eight year old boys were firing questions at our Italian copilot as they ran around our Erickson Air-Crane. It was one of several tours we had given this summer of our “Gigante” firefighting helicopter based here in Albenga, Italy.

I asked the Father about his son’s interest in aircraft as we stood chatting in the shade of the helicopter. “My son will not be a helicopter pilot” he said. “His older sister is the brave one, she will be a pilot”, he added. I laughed and told him that none of my four children had wanted to be a helicopter pilot and for that I was happy.

“My son will be a dentist or dottore of some kind, same as me and my father and his father before.” A fifth generation dottore and resident of the lovely beach side town of Alassio. It was his sons future.

Our conversation turned to the cultural differences between North Americans and Italians. My children have lives connected to, but separate from the rest of the family. They live and work all over the world and have lives of their choosing for the most part.

“It does not happen this way here” he said. “In Italy, familia is everything. It may be all we have”

“It is a very good thing for a country to be known for,” I said and it is pleasant to observe as I walk around  town. One morning I pointed out a foursome at a table to my Italian copilot. A boy of six or so sat eating his pastry as the Grandmomma, Aunt and Mother all stared lovingly at the little guy.

The copilot chuckled and said,”Its a wonder we ever grow to men”. The Doctor laughed at my story. “Yes, it is why we stay at home until we marry.”

This morning it was business as usual as our crew prepared the Sky Crane for another day of firefighting.

“The Hell with this country. I have had it with Italy!”

It was the start of a two minute rant from one of our junior mechanics. I have heard similar from dozens of pilots and mechanics based in every State, Province and Country that I have ever worked. The location may change but the source of the frustration is the same. What I have never heard and I expect I never will, is that this mechanic whose tour was two thirds done was lonely and missing his family.

It would be easy to take a simplistic and unsympathetic glance at this young mans life and tell him to harden the hell up or say “quit whining. You are working for three weeks on the Italian Riviera for Gods sake!”

This mechanic works a split shift, which is to say that he often has to work only 6 or 7 hours of the twelve or fourteen hour duty day or more that mechanics put in on a three week tour.

Plenty of time to walk the fifty steps from our Resort Hotel and swim in the warm Mediterranean, take a Hotel bicycle along the promenade, hike one of the trails in the hills above the sea, sit and sip cafe at a seaside Bistro, rent a kayak or read a book in a park while covertly checking the female passersby.

He will do none of these things and I understand why.

If he works three weeks in Italy, how long does he get to spend at home, you may wonder?

Well, three weeks. But not really. He travels on three of those 21 days at least so actually he gets about 17 or 18 days off. Not so bad? Well, remember his young family has a working Mom. She gets the weekends off. He will only be there for half of those weekends, maybe 52 days. Add 14 days of vacation that they hope they can schedule together and you get a total of 64 to 66 days depending on his travel days and that is it for the whole year. So, 170 nights that they sleep apart. 170 evenings he will not see his kids and talk with them at dinner.

Our now prevalent North American two-parent working family spends 114 full days together and probably 360 plus days and nights under the same roof. It is good to have Dad around for 17 days at a stretch but Moms at work for most of them and the chores build up when Dad’s away and then the last couple of days prior to Dad’s leaving again can be a strain that is mostly silent but sometimes not.

So, the mechanic won’t go to the beach for a swim. Families playing in the water, lovers wading in each others arms and couples laughing in beach side Bistro’s make him feel worse about his life.

Last night his wife called with some problems that he sure as hell can’t solve from Italy.

So we all listen to his rant this morning, not saying much of anything, just listening. We all know that Italy is a beautiful country. Italy does not deserve his abuse but we also know that in a country where the family is so precious,  may make Italy ,the toughest place for him to work.

Posted in Random rantings, World Travel | Tagged | 3 Comments

How hard could it be?…answered.

Gray, murky, drizzly and just above freezing. April weather in Revelstoke B.C. where the drizzle falls as snow somewhere above us in the higher mountains. This is Heli skiing country where the snow stays till late May. Happy skiers on vacation in the mountains, somewhere, enjoying the wonderful powder skiing. Down here the precipitation and low clouds are just something to endure. The hill crew has been on our cut block setting chokers on logs and the hookers have their logs arranged by weight and proximity to other wood.

Its cold, wet, miserable, dangerous work that can never pay enough for the risks involved. To make things a little more interesting, the hill crew will be dealing with a fledgling logging pilot today and another trainee they have seen once before. Thankfully an experienced logging Captain will try to prevent the newbie pilots  from killing or injuring them.

The hookers are ready and we are starting the S-58T and getting set for an hour long logging, ”cycle”. Sitting over in the left seat the Captain, looks out his large bubble window on the side and adjusts his seat for the view he needs. He will spend the next hour looking down the 200 feet of line that ends with his remotely operated cargo hook. I sit over in the right seat and look at my little knee board and pen. I will be writing down the weight and number of logs that we lift each, “turn”. My duties are simple. I watch the instruments and keep the Captain from pulling too much torque by monitoring it. I am not clear how that will work but I am pretty sure that I will be looking out my bubble window most of the time anyway. I need to get a look at how the flying is being done down there.

To a non long line pilot or non flyer it may sound strange to talk about the flying that is being done somewhere other than in the helicopter but that is how we think of vertical reference flight. At this point in my career flying a helicopter is a natural almost subconscious act. The actual flying is the line and the hook some 200 feet below that will need to be flown to the hooker. The logs are lifted and  they take off down the hill and are landed in, you guessed it, “the log landing”.

I have flown long line loads of varying types, for any number of missions for years. Logs are something new and my total prior experience consists of watching a logging, ” show” a few weeks back and chatting online with a high time logging pilot. Loren Goetzke had taken a few minutes online advising me about helicopter logging. Loren’s advice ended with the loggers mantra,”that you have to slow down to speed up”. I thought I understood his advice. Fly slow and smooth at first, remain within your current abilities and the speed will come with experience.

Yeah, I thought. I can do that.

”Are you ready Keith?” came the Captains question over the intercom.

“Yup” I said. Well, there was that torque question? Too late. We were off the ground fast, the intercom said that the, ”hook was up” and over the radio the call went to the hill crew that we were up and heading their way.

“Who has the first turn?”

I checked the hook height as we shot up the steep cut block. It just seemed low. I could see the hooker waving above us as he waited choker ropes in hand. For a second I thought the Captain was flying by the hooker below but a flare followed with a rapid descent. The hook dropped and stopped smoothly into the hookers hand. The chokers were snapped into the hook and the hooker ran off the log, scaled a higher log and jumped to a rock like a fiddler crab on seaside flotsam. “Clear” came his call, followed by “coming up” from the Captain. The logs were stood up, pulled together and the number and weight was called over the intercom. I forgot to write anything down on my knee board. A lot of thoughts were running through my head. Our rate of descent and approach angle was steep, fast and not at all what I would have ever considered trying. The log landing was a vertical drop below us and I had not been prepared for what we were about to do.

The Captain had slowed the logs, got over them, pulled power and flown them into the landing in one quick smooth motion that was nothing short of poetry. This was some real flying. I was going to like this.  I had no illusions that it would take some time to get onto this heli-logging but I knew I wanted to try.

The hour cycle was done in no time and I had managed to record the turns and totaled the sheet as we were landing back in the service landing. My turn was coming up and I changed seats as the fuel pumped. The Captain was outside, finished taking a leak and was heading up the stairs to the cockpit about the time I was asking myself, now why didn’t I relieve myself ? Nervous, Keith?

“You ready cowboy?” the Captain boomed over the intercom.

“I am” I lied.

The Captain called us on our way. I had at least remembered to call the hook up. I was introduced over the radio although I am certain it was as much a warning as an introduction.

Up the hill to the hooker I had in sight. Flare and keep the hook under control and drop to the hooker not too fast, slow and stop. A perfect hook delivery if only the hookers arms were about 8 feet longer. I was short and moved the hook over to a patient waiting hooker. Chokers in the hook, turn and the hooker calls “clear.”

“Coming up,” I croak over the radio. All that adrenaline and bile in my throat has me sounding like a two-pack-a-day smoker. The logs are up, off and down at a ridiculously steep fast approach.

A voice penetrates my mind that’s working at its maximum.“The weight?” That would have to wait. Had I said that or just thought it?

“We can get the weight just before you touch the logs into the landing.”

I laughed into the intercom. The word, ”touched” seemed so far from what I could see happening that I relaxed and actually got the logs stopped and set down albeit slowly but smoothly. It had been a light first turn and over the radio, cheering followed my climb up the hill to my second victim. The cheers seemed genuine but then again it may have been for the fact that I finally had set the logs down. Holding the last log for a few seconds trying to place it had probably looked pretty funny. Oh well. The second and third turn went ok but for some reason I had started to slow my log delivery and lingered over setting the logs into the landing.

The Captain hinted that I could set the logs a little more firmly without damaging anything. The weather was starting to clear a little and the sun coupled with the torrent of sweat running down from my helmet into my eyes was not exactly improving my hook delivery. Relax, I told myself and then went faster than ever.

“Is the spoked circle scraped into the log landing a target of some kind,” I asked the Captain?

He looked out as I slowly set the logs into the center of the wheel shape. Chuckling over the intercom he said. ”I’m thinking it’s a sun dial.” Well that did it. I would show them. The faster I went the worse I got. After about 45 minutes the Captain suggested we take a break and head back to service.

So that was it. I had failed. My landing back at service was a sight. Forgetting that two wheels on the ground meant the tail wheel was still in the air I dropped the tail wheel the last foot and sat pogo-like bouncing with my head bobbing like the turkey I felt like.

“Sorry about that” I said and was. Sorry about so many things.

“Well, what did you think Keith?” the Captain asked. Humiliation, was not a feeling I had experienced very often in my career and so I suggested that “I could probably hitch hike back to town”.” A walk in the rain would be good to cool down if I could stifle the urge to throw myself under the wheels of the first passing log truck.

It was the Captains turn to laugh now. “You didn’t think you would start out flying like me did you”? Before I had a chance to answer he got on the radio and asked the open question, “well boys, what did you think of old Keith?”

Well that’s just friggin cruel,I thought. To my great surprise, one hooker after another came on and said that I had done well for my first time out. I must have been sitting there like a fish out of water. I was trying for a response that I could not get out.

“Stick around Keith, just fly smooth and try to make every move count. I’ll give you hints as you go. You have to slow down to speed up, you know?”

“Yes, I have heard that.”I said and now I believe it.

Posted in Contract helicopter pilot, Flying Stories, Helicopter Pilot, Random rantings | Tagged | Leave a comment

A Helicopter made worse….conclusion


I never told this to the CASB . The Canadian Air Safety Board. If I had of told the investigators the whole story it would have explained a lot. It would have, if not exonerated me, at least, placed blame for the accident on someone other than me. I didn’t and the reason I mention anything now is because it happened more than twenty years ago and the “responsible” parties are no longer responsible for anything in this world.

The S-55T could have been a good helicopter. The manufacturer just needed to put any engine in it other than the Garrett TSE 331. In the spring of 1988 it was my fate to be flying the S-55T on a fire contract in Northern Saskatchewan as mentioned in a previous blog. Here is, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story”

We were starting to get a handle on a new fire. I had been flying mostly equipment into the fire that morning. My helipad was a meadow about 300 feet around that was surrounded by 80 to 100 foot trees. The fire was currently down wind about one quarter mile and I had a creek between my helipad and any silliness that the fire could create by switching directions. My mechanic had flown back with me from the airport this morning where a two man team of mechanics had completed maintenance the previous night.

The night maintenance team had completed a 100 hour scheduled inspection and made a component change. The component changed was an engine driven fuel pump. My old pump, was deemed no good. The manufacturer had found that certain pumps with certain bearings had a nasty habit of seizing particularly if the pump had sat over winter without fuel in their little bodies. I didn’t want to know how my pump had spent the winter, I was just happy to see that it was gone and a new,(used) one had been installed in its place. When I asked the mechanics that morning about the used looking “new” pump, they shrugged and said that a good pump had been taken off one of the unflyable S-55T’s sitting in the hangar. This new, used pump was identified by serial number as being an Ok pump, unlike the one they had removed.

It was now my third trip into the fire and this time rather than equipment I had 6 Native, First Nations, all right, Cree Indian firefighters. One woman, one old man and four men ages young to thirty something.

After a recon of my helispot I judged the area to be suitable for landing and was on a long shallow final to get into my spot. The S-55T is what we call a floater; it comes down, but only in its own sweet time. This meant that any flat passenger friendly approach was a long shallow affair that took some time. The bulbous nose was covered in an engine cowling that came up to chest height so any descent into a hole in the trees was best done with a crab that allowed the pilot to slide his window open and fly slightly sideways down into the opening. Sliding the window open was just the thing not to be doing when an engine decelerates to idle but that’s what happened. I checked the throttle the Rotor RPM and bottomed the collective all in one gasp.

There was no way I was in a position to make the helipad. My rotor R.P.M., or lack of it had put me too low for the autorotational glide slope that I needed. In layman’s terms, I was too low, slow and short of anything that wasn’t going to end with a tree landing. I pushed the nose over pulled just enough rotor RPM to get the nose to make the clearing and dived the tail clear of the tree line as I dropped into the meadow helipad. The collective was back on the bottom but my flare about 80 feet later confirmed what I knew without looking. I had not got enough rotor rpm back and coupled with my rate of descent ,meant I was going to be lucky not too break something other than the helicopter. I pulled full pitch low using what I had for rotor R.P.M. This prayerful action provided just enough cushion to make what would have been spectacular crash footage had anyone been around to film it. The S-55T bounced back into the air and in that nano second of clarity you get from adrenaline over supply I knew that there was no tail and probably not much left of the landing gear. I decided to push the cyclic full right on the second ugly landing. That provided rapid helmet meets the meadow grass contact but was better than helmet meets rotor blade.

I saw one of the main rotors blades heading north through the treetops in slow motion about the same instant the first drop of Jet fuel hit my cheek. I slapped electrical off as I popped the upper side window and climbed out on the left side of the fuselage.

My six passengers all seated,(I thought) on the left side of the fuselage were groaning as they sat uncomfortably suspended in the air by their seat belts. One by one I heard the click and crash of people releasing themselves from their restraints. Opening the emergency window on the left side I reached in and pulled the first firefighter out and up onto the left side of the fuselage. I told the firefighter where to walk along the fuselage and once on the ground to keep going towards the creek. I was worried about a fire with all the fuel spilling from the ruptured fuel tanks and I still had five firefighters to get clear. All of them were standing below the window opening and everyone said they were OK.

There was a snap and crash as the first firefighter not quite getting my instructions fell through a window on the fuselage landing hard on one of the waiting firefighters. Picking themselves up we heard one remark to the other, “Hey, I thought you left already”

The joke provided the comic relief we needed and in short order we were up and clear.

The only injury was the old man who had decided to get out of his seat and walk over to the big window in the door for a better look. He had a small cut on his forehead but was more concerned about his hard hat that he had left behind in the helicopter. He wanted to go back and get it so he could work. That was never going to happen.

Eventually another helicopter flew in to see where we were. I mentioned to the fire boss later that it had taken a long time to get another helicopter to our site? He looked a little chagrined and said that my “MAYDAY” call had been heard on the fire but since there was only the one transmission on the frequency and since nobody answered when they called my registration; well, they ignored the call for a while.

A day later I flew with the CASB folks to the accident site and later that day gave my recorded recollections of the events.

It turns out that two of our four S-55Ts had decels on that same day. The other ship went into the trees, but since they were small trees merely destroyed the main rotor blades on a hard landing.

The CASB sent me their preliminary findings a couple of months later and I was more than a little perturbed to see that they had suggested that I may have done something to cause the engine to roll back to idle. One suggestion was that during my pulling of the window I inadvertently pulled the engine back. That, I wrote them, was akin to rolling your car window down and while so distracted turning the wheel causing you to drive in the ditch. I was not a high time pilot then but I had been flying for 14 years and the chance of that event happening was N.F.L.

The fact was that I knew what had most likely caused the accident and this was it:

The same pump that was taken off had been accidently put back on a few hours later.

Two used pumps sitting on the bench and the wrong one was put back on. Knowing that a check of the engine was to be done by the CASB. the company removed and put the right pump on after the wreckage had been brought back to the hangar. I knew it and so did others in the company. Had I said anything I could have relied on at least one witness, the Chief Pilot to verify what had happened. I knew that a lot of heads would roll if I said anything, even though it would have put me in better standing.

Sometimes you have to consider the greater good. Ironically I flew another S-55T a week later to complete the contract and had another decel about a week after that. The engine deceleration and autorotation ended in a safe landing on a river gravel bar. The engine spooled back up after landing and I finished the longest fire contract of my career, two long months later.

Posted in Flying Stories, helicopter firefighting, Helicopter Pilot | Tagged | Leave a comment

A walk on the Liguria Coast


Click to play Walking around Liguria
Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox
Make a Smilebox slideshow
Posted in Euro travel, Random rantings, Smile Box | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Umbrellas of Allasio

Click to play The Umbrellas of Alassio
Create your own slideshow - Powered by Smilebox
Make a Smilebox slideshow
Posted in Random rantings, Smile Box, World Travel | Tagged | Leave a comment

How hard could it be?

My father had told me,” An expert makes the job look easier than it is”. I watched him bend the tubing into the right radius and offset. It fit perfectly. My previous attempt lay on the floor of the machine room, mocking me. Forty seven cents of scrap copper pipe and a humiliating feeling that I would have paid anything to remove.

He was reinforcing something I had learned at an early age when I first stepped onto the ice in my new, used ice skates.My friends were skating by me effortlessly as I picked myself up again off my bruised ass. Ice skating was a lot harder than it looked.

Flash ahead some 30 years to another learning opportunity.At this point in my helicopter career, I was ,in my opinion an accomplished pilot . Or, so I thought.

A month earlier I had been flying an MD 500D slinging damaged power lines off a burnt hillside that was being helicopter logged. I had a 150′ line with remote hook and the power line I was picking up had been cut into 200′ lengths.For some reason we were picking up the lines at one end rather than the middle or coiled up ?

When the end of the power line finally came off the ground I had about 350′ of slithering line to fly down to a trailer parked near my helispot.The job took a couple of days and when I was not flying I sat under a tree and watched Columbia Helicopters big black Chinook logging the burnt trees off the hillside above my helispot.The pilots flying the Chinook with the “politically incorrect ” name of Oprah were obviously very good at their job. At that point in my career I had several thousand hours of long line flying  and I started thinking that I might like to helicopter log as well. How hard could it be?

Revelstoke, British Columbia and the gray,rainy, March weather was an unpleasant contrast from the California weather I had left a month earlier. So here I was landing the S-58T on the service landing on my very first try at helicopter logging. My new employer had given me a check ride in an MD 500 flying a long line and I had been pronounced..O.K. ! With the maintenance complete on the Sikorsky 58T we were off to go make some money and learn how to log.

It would be the usual OJT in the 58T. I suspected that the company wanted to gauge my performance before they spent any non revenue flight time. Besides the command pilot in the other seat there was another pilot trainee sitting downstairs with the mechanic .I couldn’t help feeling a bit like a kid at hockey tryouts. Two trainee pilots and one slot available as a logging pilot. The other pilot had previous time logging in this helicopter and that made me feel a little disadvantaged.

Oh well, fly smooth,hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

….more to come

Posted in Helicopter Pilot | Tagged | 1 Comment