In John Magee’s poem, “High Flight,” he writes “Oh I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings.”
My first close encounter with the adventure of flying occurred back in the mid ‘50s when my brother Ron was on the mechanical service crew at the Transair water base on Schist Lake at Channing.
The planes of the day were of the rough and ready bush variety. The Noorduyn Norseman, the single engine Otter, Cessna, Beaver and an odd looking Bellanca. These planes were the workhorses of the north carrying whatever needed to be carried. Passengers? Yes. Exploration camp equipment and supplies? Yes. Tubs of fish for southern markets? Yes. Anything else you could think of? Yes.
The pilots were not your snappily dressed airline types. Rough work over and in the bush called for sturdy clothing. Bush pilots also carried a different air about them. They were – and are – competent and capable, but many of the early pilots were somewhat adventurous in nature and would fly into remote locations under seat-of-the-pants conditions. Just part of the job. They were also not without a sense of mischievous humour.
I was 16 years old when I experienced my first flight. Idling away my time at the water base, my brother invited me on a test flight. The Transair Norseman, I was told, had just received servicing and a test flight was required to verify airworthiness.
Great! And so it was that we climbed on board CF-GTP as the mooring lines were let go from the dock. Al Williams was in the pilot seat, my brother in the co-pilot seat and I and another young lad, Buddy Lewis, were ensconced in the open section behind. There were no seats as the plane was due for a fish haul. Well, there were seats. Sort of. My flying companion and I sat on a couple of small wooden boxes. So far, so good! Oh! Seat belts? Well, there was a length of unattached rope laying on the floor…
The warm up and takeoff were exhilarating and quite noisy as the Norseman is not in any way designed for comfort. It is the tractor in the sky. Skimming down the lake, hitting the step and for the first time seeing the land and lake fall away beneath me was a memorable experience. Yes! I have slipped the surely bonds of Earth!
Flying at 1,000 feet, Al Williams went through the checks on the plane’s airworthiness while I was busy gawking out the window. We seemed to be gaining altitude. In fact, we were soon in a steep climb with the engine roaring at full throttle. What the…? Now, the motor was really howling as we ascended ever higher. Please! This was not dancing the skies on laughter-silvered wings!
Then the engine roar stopped and our upward climb ended with a rapid, terrifying flat descent. The g-force pressure caused me to fall off my box and lay prone on the floor. What was happening? I was near to passing out when I noticed the rope. I grabbed onto it in a futile effort to – do what? I wanted to yell out but I couldn’t. I could have thought this to be my end but was incapable of thought. I was flat on the floor and in a state of mind numbness. Then I heard the roar of the motor as the engine kicked in and the Norseman regained air speed. I also heard the laughter from Al Williams and my brother.
That was my initiation into flight – a stall. Straight up and flat down and then resuming flight. It took me a moment to get my brain back in order so that I could offer my comments to the flight crew up front. Sorry, those surly, high-flying comments are not suitable for delicate ears!
Bush Pilot Legend: The story goes that a bush pilot was taking a trapper to his lakeside cabin. The pilot thought the lake was too small to land on but the trapper stated that another pilot had landed there. Not to be outdone, the pilot came onto the lake and soon ran out of lake – running the plane onto the shore, puncturing a pontoon with the prop chewing its way through a few shoreline trees.
Pilot: “I though you said another pilot landed you here!”
Trapper: “He did. Same thing happened to him!”
