"Dorothy" (our J1 Auster) had been sorted the previous weekend, and
flown to Kangaroo Island to commission her new "Slick" magnetos- with
excellent results. In fact, when I first opened the throttle for
takeoff with the new magnetos, I thought the crankshaft was going to
tear itself out of the front of the engine. The old BTH maggies were
clearly getting sick, and the difference was very obvious. And we had
an accurately calibrated and overhauled tacho to prove that the revs
were up- its shiny black face looking out of place among the other
dials, and its needle giving only the smallest tremor instead of the
wild gyrations that were typical of late. Well done, Parafield
Instruments, and at a fraction of their quoted price (I don't mind
giving a shameless plug to a good company.)

Anyway, when we arrived early on Friday morning all that remained was
to chuck in the last of the fuel and pre-flight the engine and
airframe. The forecast had a low-level trough moving in from the west,
and a front behind that. We were aiming for a sparrow-fart take-off to
stay ahead of potential poor weather, but as usual, the sparrows were
constipated and the sun was up before Dorothy's engine barked into
life at Callington.

The wind was from the northwest, so our easterly heading for Swan Hill
gave us a good fifteen knot tailwind, the air was smooth, and the
cloud advancing ahead of the trough was keeping the sun out of our
eyes, so even with our comparatively late 8:15 am takeoff, the flying
was good. Dorothy quickly settled at 2,500' in completely smooth air,
and the ground began to unroll beneath us. We eased a little to the
right of the direct track to avoid being targeted by the army mortar
range just past Murray Bridge, and with that behind us we set out
across the wheat paddocks towards Pinnaroo. This was familiar ground,
and in line with our usual practice we skirted the scrub of the Big
Desert (imaginative geographers, these Victorians), crossed the
Sunraysia Highway, noted the dry salt pan called Lake Tyrrel (used to
be full of water, even in summer) and commenced our descent into Swan
Hill. The tail wind had decreased to an average of about 10 knots as
we progressed east, but even with the relatively quick trip we were
experiencing bumrot and bladdermax by the time we approached the
circuit area.

Four of the local aviators were doing a formation fly-over of the
march at Swan Hill, and we tuned in to their chatter before alerting
them to our presence. Runway 33 was into wind, and I elected to use
the verge as the centrehad been chopped out by over use in the drought
conditions. I let Dorothy touch too early, and she floated grumpily
into the air again before collapsing onto the dry grass. This earned a
rebuke from the Navigator to smarten up my act, as she did not want to
earn the award for the Most Interesting Arrival when we landed at
Temora.

We parked Dorothy next to the bowser for refueling and decamped to the
loos for personal defueling. By the time we had commenced replenishing
Dorothy's belly tank, the two Piper Tomahawks had arrived from
Stonefield, closely followed by the Yak from Noarlunga. With Dorothy
filled and out of the way we settled down to a quick cuppa before the
next leg. The local aero club members there are very hospitable.
About 20 minutes out of Swan Hill, I suddenly realized that while I
had noted that Dorothy needed oil, I'd allowed myself to be distracted
by the other arrivals and hadn't added any. I usually maintain
Dorothy's oil level between two and two and a half gallons, but I
figured it could run down as low as one gallon before there would be
any risk of lack of supply to the engine. On a hot day this could
allow the oil temp to climb too high, but this was hardly a hot day. I
mentally kicked myself for my carelessness, resolved to keep an eye on
the temp and pressure (which were at the cold/high end of the range)
and carried on.

After about an hour, the coffee we drank at Swan Hill made its
presence felt, and we figured a quick pee stop would also permit an
oil top-up. A check of our AOPA directory revealed an airstrip at
Coleambally (not mentioned in ERSA- an example of why it's best to
carry more than the official sources). We spotted it from a few miles
out, and I managed one of my smoothest landings for some time where
there was no-one watching. This earned another rebuke from the
Navigator, who suggested I save such perfection for Temora instead of
wasting it on deserted country airstrips. (Some days you can't winÂ….).

Oil topped up and renal units pacified, we blasted off again and were
soon approaching Temora. We listened closely to the local CTAF,
building a picture of the location and intentions of the various
aircraft converging on the airfield. We made our inbound call and
heard a Piper Colt also call inbound with an arrival time near ours.
The Vampire called taxiing for a practice run to the west of the
field, and following the suggestions of the Temora Unicom, we tracked
south of the town aiming for a long downwind for runway 18. We soon
spotted the Piper sliding into the downwind leg ahead of us, and the
Vampire called off his practice flight for "administrative reasons",
so we didn't have to worry about getting tangled up with him. Then the
local RPT called up wanting to backtrack 18. Not wanting to hold him
up, Unicom asked the Piper ahead of us if she would mind "extending
downwind". The Piper agreed, and we chimed in saying we would do
likewise. The turboprop began laboriously taxiing down the runway
while we kept on extendingÂ…. and extendingÂ…. and extending. Eventually
the RPT began rolling, and the Piper turned onto base and final.
Shortly afterwards we also turned onto base and I suggested to the
Navigator that she get the map out so we could find our way back to
the field. The RPT called to thank us for our patience as she climbed
on track for Melbourne.

Eventually we had the airfield in sight again, and managed a landing
not quite as bad as the one at Swan Hill and not as good as the one at
Coleambally, but good enough to avoid the bouncer's award (and the
Navigator's displeasure) for another year.

That night a significant number of us congregated at the Shamrock
Hotel for a Chinese meal. That's right- to get a good Chinese meal in
Temora, you have to go to the Irish pub. This is multiculturalism at
its finest! Since they were practically booked out our gang was
relegated to the beer garden out the back. By mutual consent we all
ordered a "number one banquet" and at first we wondered if we had
overloaded the kitchen as it took an hour between the spring rolls and
the first real course. However, from then on the dishes appeared
relatively quickly and by the time it was all over no-one was left
dissatisfied. The floor show was provided by the sight of a well-known
member of the Noarlunga mob trying to organize the drunken rabble so
she could determine who wanted sweets and who wanted drinks and if so,
what drinksÂ…. A sergeant major in the army couldn't have done betterÂ….

For me, the highlight of the airshow on Saturday was seeing the
Canberra Bomber fly. The cartridge start with its puff of black smoke
and shriek of the starting turbine is an unusual feature, and I reckon
it's one of the best looking machines in the air. The dinner on
Saturday night was a great event with many dressing up in 1940's
style, and a fair smattering of uniforms among the furs and hats.
However, I did note a few of the blokes (somewhat under the weather)
struggling with the unfamiliar fly-buttons in the gents later onÂ…..

By Saturday evening some clouds and showers of rain had moved in, and
the scene looked fairly grim on Sunday morning. The forecast was for
headwinds, with scattered showers of rain and isolated thunderstorms
with small hail. However, the cloudbase was high enough, and we hoped
that we could dodge the rain and thunderstorms. We got airborne about
10:00am, fifteen or twenty minutes behind Noarlunga's Yak, intending
to make for Hay and Wentworth in the hope that by staying well north
we would avoid the worst of it.

At first all looked well- blocked by a shower of rain we dodged to the
south of track a little and slipped through a gap where there was only
light drizzle. Our view further south obscured by another shower, we
moved north of track and again avoided the worst of the precipitation.
Emerging from this, we were then confronted by a line of showers
extending well north. We dialed up Griffith on the GPS but it was
clear that track would lead us straight into some heavy rain with no
horizon visible. So we turned south and slid down the back of a line
of hills hoping to get in to Narrandera where we could wait for this
line of showers to pass through. But no such luck- the rain was just
as heavy down that way and Narrandera was already well into it. My
mobile phone rang, and although I didn't answer it (the noise in
Dorothy's cockpit makes conversation impossible) I guessed it was the
Noarlunga mob telling me they were down somewhere. It looked like we
were not going to get home today, so we turned tail and bolted back to
Temora, arriving just ahead of the first few showers. During the run
back the Noarlunga mob sent a text stating they were on the ground at
Griffiths, and staying there.

As soon as we got back we topped up Dorothy's tanks and pegged her
down in the rain. Back at the club, we met all the others who had made
the attempt and returned- no matter which way they were going. A
significant number of AAAA members who had flown to Cootamundra for
breakfast were trapped there, and our friends at Griffiths said they
had only just made it before the rain blotted out the scenery. We
heard that there was some very nasty weather forecast, with severe
winds. By this time it was raining steadily, and the day's airshow
flying was effectively washed out. I went out to the tie-down area and
banged the pegs in further, while all the Tiger owners dragged their
aircraft over to the hangar. The Navigator and I went over to help.
With the doors open, a space big enough to hold about three or perhaps
four aircraft was revealed, and a Stearman was being pushed into one
corner.

Have you ever seen those "executive puzzles" where a set of 3-D pieces
have to fit into a small box, and there's only one way of getting them
in? Well, by the time we had finished at the hangar, we had squeezed
into that space a Stearman, three Tigers, a Piper Colt, an Auster
(Dorothy) with an ultralight under Dorothy's wing (like a mother hen
shielding a chick). I take my hat off to the older Temora Aero Club
member who was in charge of aircraft stacking- he did a great job, and
we all slept a lot easier that evening knowing our "ragwings" were dry
and safe.

We were staying at the "Patchwork" B&B in Temora- an old hotel no
longer licensed which has our AAAA seal of approval. For $35 per
person you get a basic room with hand basin, all the breakfast you
could ever want, and a proprietor with a pleasant demeanor for whom
nothing is too much trouble. We returned there with a group of AAAA
refugees- among them the Piper pilot. Having spent the next few hours
drying off our clothing, changing into our cleanest dirty jocks, and
explaining to bosses why we wouldn't be at work tomorrow, we all
sauntered down to the Terminus pub where we bumped into yet more AAAA
weather avoiders congregating for dinner. A great night was had by
all- but in line with CASA's new alco-testing policy we avoided booze
and no-one told any liesÂ…..

Next day the headwinds were stronger but the air was dryer. The
forecast mentioned cloud at 1500'-with Temora at 900' AMSL this didn't
leave a lot of room for aviating. We knew the ground got lower out on
track, so provided the cloudbase was distinct, and the rain stayed
away, we figured it would be flyable, but with 20 knots on the nose it
would be a long trip.

And so it proved. The cloud at 1500' was broken, and we blatted along
beneath it about 700' AGL. We followed some valleys through the
Naranderra Range to avoid dragging our wheels in the foliage, and
abeam Leeton the cloud began breaking up, and the ground fell away. We
climbed over the scattered puffs of cumulus to 2,500' and soon it
disappeared entirely. Dorothy's engine sang smoothly in the crisp air,
the Navigator's finger slowly traced our progress across the map, and
Dorothy bobbed around in the light turbulence that the patchy sun
generated. At Hay we encountered a group of budding aviators receiving
ground instruction who offered us coffee while we awaited the
refueller. Their first attempts at radio communication gave us some
amusement as we climbed away on track for Mildura.

The clouds were lining up in streets along the wind and almost along
our track, and by deviating left and right we gained some additional
speed for short periods. We arrived at Mildura just ahead of the
local RPT's (Qantaslink and Rex) to discover the bowser surrounded by
a quartet of Robin helicopters. They were flying from Melbourne to
Ayers Rock where they would apparently join 30 more of the little
devils. (What do you call 30 Robin helicopters? A swarm? A Hover?).
The presence of the heavies meant the terminal café was open, so we
treated ourselves to coffee and toasted sandwiches before refueling
and heading for home. Having flown over six hours that day, our arms
were getting pretty tired approaching Callington. We briefly chatted
to the Noarlunga mob as they climbed out of Murray Bridge, before
sliding down to our home strip. And that's where our luck ran out.
After six hours of flying we were both pretty tired, and in a moment
of inattention combined with some slightly over-enthusiastic pushing,
we drove Dorothy's elevator straight back into the next aircraft's
prop, poking a ragged gash through both the top and bottom fabric.
Neither of us could believe that, after packing seven aircraft into a
sardine-tin space at Temora with nary a scratch, we'd managed to hole
our aircraft in a hangar where we had all the space in the worldÂ…..
but that's life I guess. Just as well I did that fabric repair course
a few months agoÂ…..

Coop