Chapter 46

I RETRACTED the GEAR!

Me! I did it ... such a feeling of accomplishment!

The compass said WEST NORTHWEST. In just a few minutes we flew over a town...

Junior pointed down, “Renfrew. We change course to dead west. East is 90 degrees. South is?”

I can navigate, “One eighty ... west is 270.”

“Very good, Surprise.”

Then she said, “Follow me along on the Yoke ... lightly!”

I found that the Goose flew the direction that the yoke told it to go.

I found that the foot pedals made a difference in altitude and that rudder turns were flatter than aileron turns. I had a great time.

I don’t know what other instructor pilots are like ... but Junior was great. But ... I didn’t know she was teaching ... if I had ... I probably would have been nervous.

We flew for a long time. Long enough to need fuel. Junior got on the ‘horn’ “Wiarton Keppel, Wiarton Keppel, Wiarton Keppel. British marked F 798, F 798. Grumman Goose. Princessapalia registered. Need fuel and potty ... and maybe lunch.”

“Wiarton, F 798, Is that you, Junior?”

“Nobody else is supposed to be flying my plane ... of course it is.”

“Come on down.”

Junior said to me, “One of the first things we did after the war was dump the FAA nonsense. IFF ... that’s a holdover from World War Two ... Identification Friend or Foe ... tells every radar station who we are ... where we’re from and ... if we’re legit ... where we’re going.”

We landed. I could see right off that the tricky part of flying wasn’t getting up and swanning around ... it was getting down.

Eileen Vollick Terminal received us with open arms. Well ... Arms anyway ... Wiarton is an International Port of Entry ... there are bad people out in the wide world and Customs is very interested in them.

I passed. They don’t get many New Zealanders so ... it took Junior vouching for me to keep me out of trouble.

Fuel ... craft and human ... oil ... radials use a ton of oil ... potty and run the Check List again and we were off.

Junior said, “Every time you put the plane in someone else’s hands ... run the list. It’s your responsibility. The refueler might have had a fight with his wife.” The getting even part was there even if she didn’t say it.

When we were over a big lake... “Lake Huron,” she said. “Your Airplane.”

A huge pause...

“I’ve been up since dark thirty and I need a nap,” and she did.

I shrugged ... headed due west ... fumbled a bit with the charts and realized that a touch of south would be a better line to Pentwater... 268 would work better than 270 ... maybe 267... ere on the side of caution... 268 might make Ludington but I could find The Water from there.

I remembered something from the movies and said it, “Feet dry.” We flew off the lake and passed over an airfield with an awful bunch of 747’s ... bunches and bunches ... scattered all over the taxiways and hardstands. There must have been a hundred of ‘em.

Junior sat up when I said, “Feet dry.”

“That’s Oscoda,” Junior said. “As soon as we clear up that junk it’s going to be military again. First I’ve got to offer to give them back to the owners. The planes are past their use by date. I’ll bet none of the owners want the planes back.”

That got her a look.

“They’ll have to fly them out ... probably to California. To make them flyable ... about a hundred fifty thousand each ... plus fuel and ferry pilots. Cheaper to just let me scrap ‘em.”

I offered the controls.

“No ... you’re doing fine ... we should be in Pentwater in 45 minutes. Wake me when we get there.”