Bob, a soil map of Michigan looks like a marble cake - all swirled around. Rocks and boulders from Canada are spread around. Some muck lakes of less than 50 acres, are over a 1000 feet deep. It's as crazy In it's own way as is geology in your neck of the woods. All interesting.
Tales from the Log of the Ruptured Duck
- Thread starter Kayak Jack
- Start date
Having Lunch With Jon
Yesterday morning, Julie and I got ready to have lunch with her Son Jon, his wife Linda, and son Luke. They live in Caledonia, on the SE'ly edge of Grand Rapids MI. They drove a few minutes to meet us at Hastings Municipal Air Field 9D9. We landed a few minutes after 11:00, and taxied up to the terminal area to park and chock the Duck.
Ten year old Luke is a real aviation enthusiast, and we had conversations about various aircraft pictured on the walls. One of them was a buddy of mine in his WWII Corsair. We also talked about the Fat Man And Little Boy, the A bombs that helped put a final end to WWII.
When we arrived in town, "Lo and behold!" Restaurants didn't open until noon. So, we walked around a few minutes and then wandered into the Seasonal Grille Bistro. (If there is an "e" on the end of,"Grille", and the word "Bistro" is also attached, the they cut sandwiches corner wise instead of crosswise. A sure and certain sign of higher prices.). Now, this place is also a micro brewery, but, I didn't get a chance to sample the sudsy. 8 hours from bottle to throttle is a warning to not drink and fly. Sigh. Another time, mayhaps?
It was my first time meeting both Linda and Luke. Very nice folks, and I'm glad to become part of this vibrant family. Lots of rapidly moving conversations bounced back and forth across the table. Luke tossed in a few more gems of aviation history, and told us about getting ready to visit places like Gettysburg, and the Aerospace Museum in DC.
When we got back to the field, Luke and I took a little tour of the cockpit of the Duck. Even the ancient instrumentation was impressive for him. Shucks, it still impresses me. One day, he'll probably take a ride with me and get totally hooked?
Our ride home had a few morse bumps,than we had in the smooth, morning air. After we tucked the Ruptured Duck away, we talked with friends who had also flown today. Doug flew to Brighton for lunch with his Grandkids. Ken and Vickie flew out over Lake Michigan and scouted the ice. It's beginning to break up, and has an appearance of a mosaic, tile floor.
We gathered for coffee at the BestSellers Coffee Shop for a quiet end of the day. We have celebrated Life - and cheated Death.
Yesterday morning, Julie and I got ready to have lunch with her Son Jon, his wife Linda, and son Luke. They live in Caledonia, on the SE'ly edge of Grand Rapids MI. They drove a few minutes to meet us at Hastings Municipal Air Field 9D9. We landed a few minutes after 11:00, and taxied up to the terminal area to park and chock the Duck.
Ten year old Luke is a real aviation enthusiast, and we had conversations about various aircraft pictured on the walls. One of them was a buddy of mine in his WWII Corsair. We also talked about the Fat Man And Little Boy, the A bombs that helped put a final end to WWII.
When we arrived in town, "Lo and behold!" Restaurants didn't open until noon. So, we walked around a few minutes and then wandered into the Seasonal Grille Bistro. (If there is an "e" on the end of,"Grille", and the word "Bistro" is also attached, the they cut sandwiches corner wise instead of crosswise. A sure and certain sign of higher prices.). Now, this place is also a micro brewery, but, I didn't get a chance to sample the sudsy. 8 hours from bottle to throttle is a warning to not drink and fly. Sigh. Another time, mayhaps?
It was my first time meeting both Linda and Luke. Very nice folks, and I'm glad to become part of this vibrant family. Lots of rapidly moving conversations bounced back and forth across the table. Luke tossed in a few more gems of aviation history, and told us about getting ready to visit places like Gettysburg, and the Aerospace Museum in DC.
When we got back to the field, Luke and I took a little tour of the cockpit of the Duck. Even the ancient instrumentation was impressive for him. Shucks, it still impresses me. One day, he'll probably take a ride with me and get totally hooked?
Our ride home had a few morse bumps,than we had in the smooth, morning air. After we tucked the Ruptured Duck away, we talked with friends who had also flown today. Doug flew to Brighton for lunch with his Grandkids. Ken and Vickie flew out over Lake Michigan and scouted the ice. It's beginning to break up, and has an appearance of a mosaic, tile floor.
We gathered for coffee at the BestSellers Coffee Shop for a quiet end of the day. We have celebrated Life - and cheated Death.
LUNCH WITH AN OLD SCHOOL BUDDY
Wednesday, Julie and I flew to Howell's Livingston County Airfield KOZW to meet Al Houghton for lunch at Mr. B's Irish Tavern. As we were entering the traffic pattern, I made the obligatory radio calls to let other aircraft know our location and intentions. "Livingston traffic, Skyhawk 2111Yankee entering left downwind for 31 on a 45, Livingston." This let any other traffic in the area know what we were, where we were, and where we were going.
Quick - like a bunny - the radio came right back, "Oh oh. Keep the Ruptured Duck out of here." Hmm, who's this?
"Livingston traffic. Who's familiar with the Ruptured Duck?" A good buddy responded, "Dan. I'm here flying my chopper. We'll be doing a right pattern for 13, but don't worry. We'll be out of your way."
"Rog. Have a good flight, Dan." Dan flies it all from Piper Cubs to jets to choppers.
We landed uneventfully, secured the Duck, and walked into the terminal to cycle the coffee situation. Mark, the field manager, greeted us. They do a nice job here. In a few minutes, Al walked in. I introduced him to Julie and they strolled over to some windows and got acquainted as they watched Dan in his helicopter. Al and I met a bit over 70 years ago in kindergarten. He taught me a very valuable Life lesson. "It's OK to lick the knife only if you're making a peanut butter sandwich." That little bit of permissive advice has made a tasty difference for me.
We went to school together K-12. Now, we lunch together about once a month. He haunts yard sales and I canoe, bike, and fly. As kids in grade school, carrying our lunches, we'd often swap halves of sandwiches. PB&J for BLT was considered a fair swap. We also,swapped Tom Mix buttons. We also brought in almost all of the kapok (milkweed seed pods) ever produced by our school. Kapok was used to make life jackets. So, in our own little-town and little boy ways, we supported the war effort.
Well, anytheway, lunch was fun. Al has a bulldog named Cedric. I call him Cur Ced. I pronounce the "Cur" as if it were the word "Sir". In emails, I write stuff like: Dear Cur Ced. Please tell your manservant that we would like to meet him for lunch next Wednesday. Then, you can go pee in his slippers. Your buddy, Jack
Cur Ced responds, "Arf! Arf!" We have a secret language between us, we do.
After lunch, Al took us back to the terminal, we said our goodbyes, and we cranked the Duck. I thought a bit of sight seeing on the way home would be nice, so laid out a circuitous route home. But - after about only 10 minutes, the turbulence convinced both of us that we'd enjoyed about all of this we could stand. "Lansing approach, 11Yankee." "11Yankee, Lansing approach. Go ahead." "Lansing, 11Yankee. We're changing our route and proceeding directly to Mason." "Proceed on, 11Yankee."
Another in uneventful landing, taxi in, shut down, and put,away the Duck. Cheated death twice today. Time for coffee at the BestSellers Coffee Shop.
Wednesday, Julie and I flew to Howell's Livingston County Airfield KOZW to meet Al Houghton for lunch at Mr. B's Irish Tavern. As we were entering the traffic pattern, I made the obligatory radio calls to let other aircraft know our location and intentions. "Livingston traffic, Skyhawk 2111Yankee entering left downwind for 31 on a 45, Livingston." This let any other traffic in the area know what we were, where we were, and where we were going.
Quick - like a bunny - the radio came right back, "Oh oh. Keep the Ruptured Duck out of here." Hmm, who's this?
"Livingston traffic. Who's familiar with the Ruptured Duck?" A good buddy responded, "Dan. I'm here flying my chopper. We'll be doing a right pattern for 13, but don't worry. We'll be out of your way."
"Rog. Have a good flight, Dan." Dan flies it all from Piper Cubs to jets to choppers.
We landed uneventfully, secured the Duck, and walked into the terminal to cycle the coffee situation. Mark, the field manager, greeted us. They do a nice job here. In a few minutes, Al walked in. I introduced him to Julie and they strolled over to some windows and got acquainted as they watched Dan in his helicopter. Al and I met a bit over 70 years ago in kindergarten. He taught me a very valuable Life lesson. "It's OK to lick the knife only if you're making a peanut butter sandwich." That little bit of permissive advice has made a tasty difference for me.
We went to school together K-12. Now, we lunch together about once a month. He haunts yard sales and I canoe, bike, and fly. As kids in grade school, carrying our lunches, we'd often swap halves of sandwiches. PB&J for BLT was considered a fair swap. We also,swapped Tom Mix buttons. We also brought in almost all of the kapok (milkweed seed pods) ever produced by our school. Kapok was used to make life jackets. So, in our own little-town and little boy ways, we supported the war effort.
Well, anytheway, lunch was fun. Al has a bulldog named Cedric. I call him Cur Ced. I pronounce the "Cur" as if it were the word "Sir". In emails, I write stuff like: Dear Cur Ced. Please tell your manservant that we would like to meet him for lunch next Wednesday. Then, you can go pee in his slippers. Your buddy, Jack
Cur Ced responds, "Arf! Arf!" We have a secret language between us, we do.
After lunch, Al took us back to the terminal, we said our goodbyes, and we cranked the Duck. I thought a bit of sight seeing on the way home would be nice, so laid out a circuitous route home. But - after about only 10 minutes, the turbulence convinced both of us that we'd enjoyed about all of this we could stand. "Lansing approach, 11Yankee." "11Yankee, Lansing approach. Go ahead." "Lansing, 11Yankee. We're changing our route and proceeding directly to Mason." "Proceed on, 11Yankee."
Another in uneventful landing, taxi in, shut down, and put,away the Duck. Cheated death twice today. Time for coffee at the BestSellers Coffee Shop.
Dowagiac Michigan
A couple of weeks ago, Julie and I flew to Dowagiac. No particular reason - except that I hadn't been there for a long time. Some old memories were bouncing around in my head. Lotsa activity in there; lotsa room in there, and a few echoes too.
Fifty years ago, the little town of Dowagiac, nestled in the lower SW'ly corner of the state, had some of the best looking baton twirlers in the state. I knew this, because I played a double b-flat Sousaphone (some call'em tubas) in Okemos High School marching band. Sousaphones were positioned at the rear of the band so the unifying base-sound could be heard throughout the entire formation of our band. And, believe me, I blatted it out so that EVERY band member could hear it.
Now, this rearward positioning worked to our advantage - we three guys who toted and blew those large bases. Because with us in the rear, the very front of the next band behind us was right up against us. And, baton twirlers are always positioned up front. So, whenever our band stopped. We spun around and talked to the good looking baton twirlers right behind us. That's how I came to realize that the town fathers of Dowagiac had spawned a particularly good crop of baton twirlers.
I hadn't taken the time to mention baton twirlers to Julie; I suspect that she's not much interested in'em anyway. Well, when we landed, none of them were there to welcome us to the air field or the town. In fact - nobody was there. One crow was strutting around the apron, but that was about all. He gave us a surly look, and flew off to be with more of his ilk.
We worked the combination lock on the door, visited the powder rooms, looked around a bit, I powdered my nose one more time just for good luck, and we saddled up to leave. On lift off, a hawk was in the traffic pattern. We leveled off and flew under him, and then resumed climbing out. A stiff head wind slowed us down about 30 mph, so we had time to really look well at the country side on the way to Marshall.
When we (finally) got to Marshall and landed, we called Schuler's Restaurant for pick up so we could eat lunch. They are really nice. A young lady came out in her own, personal car. The regular van is being painted and fixed up. It must have suffered some damage, because it looked OK the last time I saw it. Turns out that her mother is a manager at Schuler's, this young lady just graduated with a degree in business management, and is on an apprenticeship there. She used to play in the nursery at the restaurant when she was a toddler, while her mother worked. A smile and conversation brings out all kinds of interesting stuff.
After lunch, and the same, nice young lady returning us to the field, we launched for home. That head wind was still slowing us down, so we could count the guy wires on each tall tower as we slid by. We came around onto downwind leg, turned to base leg, and slid onto final approach. The landing wasn't anything to brag about, but we're able to reuse most of the parts. Cheated death three times.
A couple of weeks ago, Julie and I flew to Dowagiac. No particular reason - except that I hadn't been there for a long time. Some old memories were bouncing around in my head. Lotsa activity in there; lotsa room in there, and a few echoes too.
Fifty years ago, the little town of Dowagiac, nestled in the lower SW'ly corner of the state, had some of the best looking baton twirlers in the state. I knew this, because I played a double b-flat Sousaphone (some call'em tubas) in Okemos High School marching band. Sousaphones were positioned at the rear of the band so the unifying base-sound could be heard throughout the entire formation of our band. And, believe me, I blatted it out so that EVERY band member could hear it.
Now, this rearward positioning worked to our advantage - we three guys who toted and blew those large bases. Because with us in the rear, the very front of the next band behind us was right up against us. And, baton twirlers are always positioned up front. So, whenever our band stopped. We spun around and talked to the good looking baton twirlers right behind us. That's how I came to realize that the town fathers of Dowagiac had spawned a particularly good crop of baton twirlers.
I hadn't taken the time to mention baton twirlers to Julie; I suspect that she's not much interested in'em anyway. Well, when we landed, none of them were there to welcome us to the air field or the town. In fact - nobody was there. One crow was strutting around the apron, but that was about all. He gave us a surly look, and flew off to be with more of his ilk.
We worked the combination lock on the door, visited the powder rooms, looked around a bit, I powdered my nose one more time just for good luck, and we saddled up to leave. On lift off, a hawk was in the traffic pattern. We leveled off and flew under him, and then resumed climbing out. A stiff head wind slowed us down about 30 mph, so we had time to really look well at the country side on the way to Marshall.
When we (finally) got to Marshall and landed, we called Schuler's Restaurant for pick up so we could eat lunch. They are really nice. A young lady came out in her own, personal car. The regular van is being painted and fixed up. It must have suffered some damage, because it looked OK the last time I saw it. Turns out that her mother is a manager at Schuler's, this young lady just graduated with a degree in business management, and is on an apprenticeship there. She used to play in the nursery at the restaurant when she was a toddler, while her mother worked. A smile and conversation brings out all kinds of interesting stuff.
After lunch, and the same, nice young lady returning us to the field, we launched for home. That head wind was still slowing us down, so we could count the guy wires on each tall tower as we slid by. We came around onto downwind leg, turned to base leg, and slid onto final approach. The landing wasn't anything to brag about, but we're able to reuse most of the parts. Cheated death three times.
Jack,
Bet you didn't have a fancy white fiberglass Sousaphone to march with like I did. Plastic and fiberglass probably hadn't been invented yet. :lol:
Bob
Bet you didn't have a fancy white fiberglass Sousaphone to march with like I did. Plastic and fiberglass probably hadn't been invented yet. :lol:
Bob
Solid brass, with the density of both lead and mercury combined. 26 pounds, as I remember. Yet, we could goose step across the field.
Pancakes At Gratiot Community Airport - KAMN
Julie and I were up early, this morning. Off to the field to preflight, get a WX briefing, and fly to Alma, where Gratiot County Field is located. Our original idea was to just visit another field where I've never landed before. On arrival, we had a pleasant surprise.
"There's a lot of planes down there! I wonder what's going on?" As we taxied off the active runway to the apron, a ground-traffic marshaller called us on the radio, and directed us to an open parking spot. He waved a red flag to get my attention, so I could pick him out from all the background activity there. After shutting down and securing the Duck, we walked over and asked what was going on. "Pancake breakfast. Want some?" Well, that was a surprise - sure!
As we approached the hangar where tables were set up, the smell of sausage and panacakes began to hit us. "YUM!" A friendly lady took the money, handed out plates and plastic silverware, and we hit the serving line. "I'll need an extra one of those pancakes, please? I can use it as a boot in one of my tires." That earned a smile or two, and extra eggs.
A few pancakes and burps later, we joined into an ongoing conversation with some (other) geezers at the other end of our table. This is home territory for Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) Chapter 134. Julie and I belong to EAA Chapter 55 at Mason, 55 miles SE'ly of Alma. All sister chapters work together, so we are as welcome here as at home. You could almost hear the audible "click" as we were slipped into place here.
Across the aisle, a 10 year old boy was balancing breakfast and a leash attached to a leggy, lab puppy. At our table, a fellow slowly shambled in on two canes. He could barely perambulate, but aye God! he made it to breakfast! Another pilot brought him his breakfast and coffee. Outside, a gal was hand-propping an old, Cessna 140 to life for the visiting pilot. These get togethers are very family and community oriented.
Climbing out after takeoff, we settled in to fly to Grand Ledge Airport, 4D0. I wanted to refamliarize myself with the field, as we will meet some friends there in a week or two. But, gusty ground winds changed my mind, and we aborted that leg of the trip to head directly home to Mason Jewett Field KTEW.
As we entered the pattern someone called to ask if that was the Ruptured Duck, "Rog, this is the Duck; who's calling?" "It's Dan, in the helicopter." "OK, good to talk with you. Let's go for coffee after we land." "Works for me!"
We landed, taxied to the refuel pits, and were pouring in 100 octane low lead as Dan brought in his R-44 for a nice landing. As we taxied to the hangar to put the Duck to bed, a banner-towing aircraft called out that he was coming in for a pass and picking up a banner. Never having seen one of these banner-snatching operations before, Julie climbed out and stayed out near the taxiway to watch.
He had pre-positioned a snatch line crossways between poles; the poles had flags on them so he could easily spot them on approach. The line and banner were ahead of the cross-line that was rigged on the poles. He came in low and fast with a tail hook deployed, snatched onto the cross-line, immediatley pulled strong nose up, and firewalled the throttle. As he climbed, the banner unfolded behind until it was all stretched out in its entirety. He continued to climb, circled around the traffic pattern, returned to drop it again on the infield. He was practicing. Downed airmen can be snatched up in a similar maneuver. But, I'd rather read about it than be the guy riding the lightning.
Julie and I met Dan at the BestSellers Coffee and Book Shop. Our old friend, Rollie Dart, was there too. Rollie, now 88, was a young Marine on Iwo Jima when the party was hot there. This group is a pure delight to be with. Conversations wander from riotous and ridiculous, through deeply serious and philosophical. No subject seems off bounds, and everything gets well chewed up and fully wrung out before getting discarded.
It's always an interesting day; I just never have any idea about where the interesting part is coming from - or going to be. Kinda like "Stand by for ram!" You know something is coming, just not what or from where or when.
Keep the pointy end going forward, and the greasy side down. The Ruptured Duck and crew.
Julie and I were up early, this morning. Off to the field to preflight, get a WX briefing, and fly to Alma, where Gratiot County Field is located. Our original idea was to just visit another field where I've never landed before. On arrival, we had a pleasant surprise.
"There's a lot of planes down there! I wonder what's going on?" As we taxied off the active runway to the apron, a ground-traffic marshaller called us on the radio, and directed us to an open parking spot. He waved a red flag to get my attention, so I could pick him out from all the background activity there. After shutting down and securing the Duck, we walked over and asked what was going on. "Pancake breakfast. Want some?" Well, that was a surprise - sure!
As we approached the hangar where tables were set up, the smell of sausage and panacakes began to hit us. "YUM!" A friendly lady took the money, handed out plates and plastic silverware, and we hit the serving line. "I'll need an extra one of those pancakes, please? I can use it as a boot in one of my tires." That earned a smile or two, and extra eggs.
A few pancakes and burps later, we joined into an ongoing conversation with some (other) geezers at the other end of our table. This is home territory for Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) Chapter 134. Julie and I belong to EAA Chapter 55 at Mason, 55 miles SE'ly of Alma. All sister chapters work together, so we are as welcome here as at home. You could almost hear the audible "click" as we were slipped into place here.
Across the aisle, a 10 year old boy was balancing breakfast and a leash attached to a leggy, lab puppy. At our table, a fellow slowly shambled in on two canes. He could barely perambulate, but aye God! he made it to breakfast! Another pilot brought him his breakfast and coffee. Outside, a gal was hand-propping an old, Cessna 140 to life for the visiting pilot. These get togethers are very family and community oriented.
Climbing out after takeoff, we settled in to fly to Grand Ledge Airport, 4D0. I wanted to refamliarize myself with the field, as we will meet some friends there in a week or two. But, gusty ground winds changed my mind, and we aborted that leg of the trip to head directly home to Mason Jewett Field KTEW.
As we entered the pattern someone called to ask if that was the Ruptured Duck, "Rog, this is the Duck; who's calling?" "It's Dan, in the helicopter." "OK, good to talk with you. Let's go for coffee after we land." "Works for me!"
We landed, taxied to the refuel pits, and were pouring in 100 octane low lead as Dan brought in his R-44 for a nice landing. As we taxied to the hangar to put the Duck to bed, a banner-towing aircraft called out that he was coming in for a pass and picking up a banner. Never having seen one of these banner-snatching operations before, Julie climbed out and stayed out near the taxiway to watch.
He had pre-positioned a snatch line crossways between poles; the poles had flags on them so he could easily spot them on approach. The line and banner were ahead of the cross-line that was rigged on the poles. He came in low and fast with a tail hook deployed, snatched onto the cross-line, immediatley pulled strong nose up, and firewalled the throttle. As he climbed, the banner unfolded behind until it was all stretched out in its entirety. He continued to climb, circled around the traffic pattern, returned to drop it again on the infield. He was practicing. Downed airmen can be snatched up in a similar maneuver. But, I'd rather read about it than be the guy riding the lightning.
Julie and I met Dan at the BestSellers Coffee and Book Shop. Our old friend, Rollie Dart, was there too. Rollie, now 88, was a young Marine on Iwo Jima when the party was hot there. This group is a pure delight to be with. Conversations wander from riotous and ridiculous, through deeply serious and philosophical. No subject seems off bounds, and everything gets well chewed up and fully wrung out before getting discarded.
It's always an interesting day; I just never have any idea about where the interesting part is coming from - or going to be. Kinda like "Stand by for ram!" You know something is coming, just not what or from where or when.
Keep the pointy end going forward, and the greasy side down. The Ruptured Duck and crew.
FOR THE WANT OF A NAIL
There's a story of how a kingdom came to be lost. "For want of a nail - a shoe was lost. For the want of shoe - a horse was lost. For want of a horse - a rider was lost. For want of that rider - a battle was lost. For want of that battle - an entire kingdom was lost."
Yesterday was a perfect day to fly. The weather gods had lined it all up - clear, blue skies; gentle winds; low humidity; gas tanks full. The Duck was all preflighted and ready to go. We pulled her out of the hangar and cranked her up. Running through the checklist. "Seats and doors locked - CHECK"
Whoops! The passenger door didn't latch. Over and over again, we relatched. And, just as relentlessly - it unlatched. I shut down the engine, got out the tool bag, and checked it over. Broken spring. Abort, After putting the Duck back to bed, we drove to Lake Michigan and got ice cream. sigh
Todd has parts on order, so I'll tie the darned door shut and fly for repairs. Sometimes - the bull doesn't lose.
There's a story of how a kingdom came to be lost. "For want of a nail - a shoe was lost. For the want of shoe - a horse was lost. For want of a horse - a rider was lost. For want of that rider - a battle was lost. For want of that battle - an entire kingdom was lost."
Yesterday was a perfect day to fly. The weather gods had lined it all up - clear, blue skies; gentle winds; low humidity; gas tanks full. The Duck was all preflighted and ready to go. We pulled her out of the hangar and cranked her up. Running through the checklist. "Seats and doors locked - CHECK"
Whoops! The passenger door didn't latch. Over and over again, we relatched. And, just as relentlessly - it unlatched. I shut down the engine, got out the tool bag, and checked it over. Broken spring. Abort, After putting the Duck back to bed, we drove to Lake Michigan and got ice cream. sigh
Todd has parts on order, so I'll tie the darned door shut and fly for repairs. Sometimes - the bull doesn't lose.
AND NOW - THE NAIL!
Today, we reinstalled the passenger door (right hand side), and the Duck is operationally ready again. It now closes with an authoritative CLICK!. A real difference from what I remember from the last few years.
With summer full on, rows of corn sprouting, fields of wheat lushly green, bean rows becoming discernible, and calves frolicking around - we want to go out and see the fields again. Rivers are receding from their spring freshet stages; trees are heavy with both leaves and blooms; lawns are landscaped and ready for summer. Parades of old cars sputter along country roads. Lines of bicyclists are pedaling along from one coffee shop to the next McDonald's. They're all easy to see from the air.
Tomorrow, I'll get the Duck aloft, in to her own element, and slip those surly bonds of Earth again.
Today, we reinstalled the passenger door (right hand side), and the Duck is operationally ready again. It now closes with an authoritative CLICK!. A real difference from what I remember from the last few years.
With summer full on, rows of corn sprouting, fields of wheat lushly green, bean rows becoming discernible, and calves frolicking around - we want to go out and see the fields again. Rivers are receding from their spring freshet stages; trees are heavy with both leaves and blooms; lawns are landscaped and ready for summer. Parades of old cars sputter along country roads. Lines of bicyclists are pedaling along from one coffee shop to the next McDonald's. They're all easy to see from the air.
Tomorrow, I'll get the Duck aloft, in to her own element, and slip those surly bonds of Earth again.
Kayak Jack said:
Had to do a search on that (nawthern) word, "freshet". :lol: Not sure if I can pronounce it*, but South Louisiana rivers are at "freshet" stage. Local waterways are closed because of heavy rains.
beekeeper
*I've had issues with saying new words ever since my mama washed my mouth out with soap for saying a word I didn't know what it meant.
EARLY SUMMER FROM 3,000'
A short jaunt this morning. Out early, and back for coffee by 11:00. The Duck was eager this morning. She leapt from the ground in anticipation of getting in the air again. Remember when we were kids, and the first day of hunting season? How anxious our dogs were to be afield? Mine would snort and sneeze to clear her nose. Shake her head from side to side to clear her ears. She was READY to go! The Duck was ready to go aloft this morning.
Two deer were right next to the taxiway on our way to the runway. Interestingly enough, we have to fly with at least 2,000' of clearance above any wildlife refuge - so we don't frighten the animals!. Fact is, that every airfield in Michigan has a warning note. "CAUTION: deer and waterfowl on and about runway." Deer can't read, and just don't realize that we're frightening them, I guess.
I had Julie in training on the handheld GPS, tracking our route and destination. Good practice in case the iPad dies sometime. Duck Lake - distinctively shaped like a kidney that has been struggling with the aftermath of Viennie sausages - appeared in our 1:00 o'clock, slipped on past, and the town of Marshall was just off our nose.
Headwinds had held us to an 80 mph ground speed, so the trip had taken a few minutes longer than usual. Traveling slower, we watched a fellow planting corn or doy beans (I think), saw lots of fields that had been freshly fitted and planted, rich greens of winter wheat that will soon be knee high, and I-94 crawl along underneath.
A 90 degree crosswind made our first landing interesting. No one around. It's a bit early for the Sunday luncheon crowd to come in, and call Schuler's restaurant for pick up shuttle service. Powder our noses, and off we go. Tailwinds give us 130 mph ground speed coming home. Another 90 degree crosswind spiced up my landing, and stretched it out more than normal. But, we cheated death again.
We tucked the Duck into bed; washed a few bugs off her leading edges, and went for coffee. A surprise awaited us at BestSellers coffee and book shop. Dave Delind, and his new wife Amber, were there too. Dave, and his Dad, Doug, have an art display in the restaurant. As a kid, I used to play with Doug, Bill, and Bob DeLind. My Dad worked for their Dad, (Dave's Grandad) Dee DeLind. Son of a gun!
Now, a bit of time out on the front deck, reading about airplanes, smoking a seegar, and waving to passersby. Keep the pointy end forward and the greasy side down.
A short jaunt this morning. Out early, and back for coffee by 11:00. The Duck was eager this morning. She leapt from the ground in anticipation of getting in the air again. Remember when we were kids, and the first day of hunting season? How anxious our dogs were to be afield? Mine would snort and sneeze to clear her nose. Shake her head from side to side to clear her ears. She was READY to go! The Duck was ready to go aloft this morning.
Two deer were right next to the taxiway on our way to the runway. Interestingly enough, we have to fly with at least 2,000' of clearance above any wildlife refuge - so we don't frighten the animals!. Fact is, that every airfield in Michigan has a warning note. "CAUTION: deer and waterfowl on and about runway." Deer can't read, and just don't realize that we're frightening them, I guess.
I had Julie in training on the handheld GPS, tracking our route and destination. Good practice in case the iPad dies sometime. Duck Lake - distinctively shaped like a kidney that has been struggling with the aftermath of Viennie sausages - appeared in our 1:00 o'clock, slipped on past, and the town of Marshall was just off our nose.
Headwinds had held us to an 80 mph ground speed, so the trip had taken a few minutes longer than usual. Traveling slower, we watched a fellow planting corn or doy beans (I think), saw lots of fields that had been freshly fitted and planted, rich greens of winter wheat that will soon be knee high, and I-94 crawl along underneath.
A 90 degree crosswind made our first landing interesting. No one around. It's a bit early for the Sunday luncheon crowd to come in, and call Schuler's restaurant for pick up shuttle service. Powder our noses, and off we go. Tailwinds give us 130 mph ground speed coming home. Another 90 degree crosswind spiced up my landing, and stretched it out more than normal. But, we cheated death again.
We tucked the Duck into bed; washed a few bugs off her leading edges, and went for coffee. A surprise awaited us at BestSellers coffee and book shop. Dave Delind, and his new wife Amber, were there too. Dave, and his Dad, Doug, have an art display in the restaurant. As a kid, I used to play with Doug, Bill, and Bob DeLind. My Dad worked for their Dad, (Dave's Grandad) Dee DeLind. Son of a gun!
Now, a bit of time out on the front deck, reading about airplanes, smoking a seegar, and waving to passersby. Keep the pointy end forward and the greasy side down.
Gee Jack,
I sure would enjoy a cigar. Problem is, if I smoke one, would I stop. I have been putting off having a cigarette for 5 or 6 years now and would like to keep it that way. Guess I could get one and just smell it. They do smell good. Oh Well!
Bob
I sure would enjoy a cigar. Problem is, if I smoke one, would I stop. I have been putting off having a cigarette for 5 or 6 years now and would like to keep it that way. Guess I could get one and just smell it. They do smell good. Oh Well!
Bob
A Real American Hero
In flying, you meet a lot of people. While they're always interesting, a few are even more so. Hangaring across the taxiway from the Ruptured Duck is a Piper that belongs to a 92 year old fellow named Ernie Lutz. Ernie is a quiet fellow, helps push the Duck into the hangar now and then, and a real, American hero.
Friday noon,we gathered at a local church to be part of a presentation ceremony. The French recognized him with their Legion of Honor Medal. Along with this he was knighted. Ernie flew 65 sorties in Europe in WWII. One of them was up the beaches on D Day, bombing Nazi gun emplacements.
Ernie, and his son Terry, both fly out of Mason Jewett Field where I fly. Terry was a test pilot in the Air Force, and recently retired from testing the Air Bus aircraft. We also belong to the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) Chapter 55 here too. It's as good a community as you could ever want to belong to.
Thanks Ernie. We all live better because of guys like you.
In flying, you meet a lot of people. While they're always interesting, a few are even more so. Hangaring across the taxiway from the Ruptured Duck is a Piper that belongs to a 92 year old fellow named Ernie Lutz. Ernie is a quiet fellow, helps push the Duck into the hangar now and then, and a real, American hero.
Friday noon,we gathered at a local church to be part of a presentation ceremony. The French recognized him with their Legion of Honor Medal. Along with this he was knighted. Ernie flew 65 sorties in Europe in WWII. One of them was up the beaches on D Day, bombing Nazi gun emplacements.
Ernie, and his son Terry, both fly out of Mason Jewett Field where I fly. Terry was a test pilot in the Air Force, and recently retired from testing the Air Bus aircraft. We also belong to the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) Chapter 55 here too. It's as good a community as you could ever want to belong to.
Thanks Ernie. We all live better because of guys like you.
$100 Cuppa Coffee
We have a custom, we fly to another field, go off base and get a lunch/breakfast, etc. It's called the Hundred Dollar Hamburger. Yesterday, I didn't eat, I just got a cup of coffee.
Recently, I'd had a couple of short flights with Grandkids. One, just once around the pattern, and the other to a lake with an island in it about 20 miles S'ly of the field. Yesterday, I took the Duck a bit further away, to Howell (KOZW). They are preparing for a big weekend - a balloon fest (hot air balloons) and an open house. They replaced the old, small terminal building with a sumptuous one on the other side of the field. World famous coffee there.
Someone is always hanging around a terminal building, or an open hangar. Yesterday, a fellow and his wife had flown in from Willow Run - the airfield near Detroit, with a large manufacturing plant that Henry Ford Constructed to build WWII bombers. This pilot was due a bi-annual evaluation, and had flown in to meet the instructor who was going to conduct it. It consists of an hour of verbal/written testing, and an hour in the air. While it's basically designed to be a learning experience, and pilots don't "fail" it unless they crash or have a heart attack, we still get a bit anxious. He was anxious.
While I sipped coffee, I talked with his wife. They looked about my age, and they don't fly as much as they used to. She enjoys flying along with him, and they share adventures, family gatherings, etc. They were also getting a bit of maintenance done, and Jim Tafralian is their mechanic. Jim, like many around airplanes, is a "character". He had shown me a video of guys, somewhere in the South, flying along in a chopper over sugar beet fields, shooting wild hogs. They left behind a lot of pre-bacon. Piper San would have treasured a chance to gather up those tenderloins and hams.
After our chat, I taxied across the field to get some fuel, and head home. OUCH! $5.90/gallon for 100 octane low lead. So, I got just enough to get me home and keep my 10 gallon reserve intact.
On the way home, the radio was full of chatter with sky divers leaving the plane - "Jumpers away!". They were a few mile N'ly of me, so no sweat. There was, though, a light sport plane below them, less than a mile away. I'm thinking the jumpers descended along behind him. Otherwise, he'd be a bit surprised to see people streaking down to the ground in front of him. Or, worse yet, land on top of his air-filled wing and collapse it.
Landing at Mason was routine, and nice. Cheated Death again.
We have a custom, we fly to another field, go off base and get a lunch/breakfast, etc. It's called the Hundred Dollar Hamburger. Yesterday, I didn't eat, I just got a cup of coffee.
Recently, I'd had a couple of short flights with Grandkids. One, just once around the pattern, and the other to a lake with an island in it about 20 miles S'ly of the field. Yesterday, I took the Duck a bit further away, to Howell (KOZW). They are preparing for a big weekend - a balloon fest (hot air balloons) and an open house. They replaced the old, small terminal building with a sumptuous one on the other side of the field. World famous coffee there.
Someone is always hanging around a terminal building, or an open hangar. Yesterday, a fellow and his wife had flown in from Willow Run - the airfield near Detroit, with a large manufacturing plant that Henry Ford Constructed to build WWII bombers. This pilot was due a bi-annual evaluation, and had flown in to meet the instructor who was going to conduct it. It consists of an hour of verbal/written testing, and an hour in the air. While it's basically designed to be a learning experience, and pilots don't "fail" it unless they crash or have a heart attack, we still get a bit anxious. He was anxious.
While I sipped coffee, I talked with his wife. They looked about my age, and they don't fly as much as they used to. She enjoys flying along with him, and they share adventures, family gatherings, etc. They were also getting a bit of maintenance done, and Jim Tafralian is their mechanic. Jim, like many around airplanes, is a "character". He had shown me a video of guys, somewhere in the South, flying along in a chopper over sugar beet fields, shooting wild hogs. They left behind a lot of pre-bacon. Piper San would have treasured a chance to gather up those tenderloins and hams.
After our chat, I taxied across the field to get some fuel, and head home. OUCH! $5.90/gallon for 100 octane low lead. So, I got just enough to get me home and keep my 10 gallon reserve intact.
On the way home, the radio was full of chatter with sky divers leaving the plane - "Jumpers away!". They were a few mile N'ly of me, so no sweat. There was, though, a light sport plane below them, less than a mile away. I'm thinking the jumpers descended along behind him. Otherwise, he'd be a bit surprised to see people streaking down to the ground in front of him. Or, worse yet, land on top of his air-filled wing and collapse it.
Landing at Mason was routine, and nice. Cheated Death again.
That is a Texas thing , they use choppers to fly and zap wild hogs. You have a large land mass that is infested with wild hogs , you need to be able to cover a lot of ground to shoot them. My understanding one rancher offers air born hog hunting flights.
Take a look , it looks like a lot of fun.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=89UliEiQQyU
Jack,
you do not want a live pissed off hog in the helicopter with you. That could of well been filmed a few miles south east of me. Woods lining pastures and rice fields. A friend of mine SE of here one year invited helicopter hunters out to his place to try to thin out the hogs. They flew a bunch of hunts out there. He ranches, farms rice, and collects and sells alligator eggs in the spring. For a while he was working with Texas A&M trapping hogs. They had huge traps with a camera monitoring it. They would call the camera with a cell phone and look to see how many hogs had wandered into the trap. When they thought they had enough in the trap they would use the cell phone to trip the trap door shut. The hogs he caught was sold to some guy that sold canned hunts for rich folks. And he still has a hog problem
Bob
you do not want a live pissed off hog in the helicopter with you. That could of well been filmed a few miles south east of me. Woods lining pastures and rice fields. A friend of mine SE of here one year invited helicopter hunters out to his place to try to thin out the hogs. They flew a bunch of hunts out there. He ranches, farms rice, and collects and sells alligator eggs in the spring. For a while he was working with Texas A&M trapping hogs. They had huge traps with a camera monitoring it. They would call the camera with a cell phone and look to see how many hogs had wandered into the trap. When they thought they had enough in the trap they would use the cell phone to trip the trap door shut. The hogs he caught was sold to some guy that sold canned hunts for rich folks. And he still has a hog problem
Bob
Kayak Jack said:
Not sure about the rest of the country or today rules but here in Florida you use to have to confine any wild hogs you caught for 30 days to quarantine them before butchering them.
We ( a rancher and I ) caught 27 in a pen and then feed them corn and sweet feed for the 30 day period. After that I took three of them and had them butchered and converted into spicy sausage. I like sausage
If you shoot them then it is a take it home hang it up and proceed to make the cuts you want to eat and sausage out of the rest. No waiting time limit. If you are in a Airboat on the lower St.Johns river , camping and hog hunting it is return to camp with the hog , dress it and place over a some coals from a oak fire , have some beers while it cooks and get ready for a good BBQ.
The hogs are so thick here in Texas it is unreal, the heli hunting is just extermination like they use to do with the wolves and yotes.
Ron
Ron