Just before I start. why are people so unkind?
this is just a related tale of flying over desert for 2 days. It
doesnt have a dan dare plot. there is no heroin or heroine involved.
well maybe .... :-)

ok where was I?
oh yes the cloud base was high enough to be promising and I was
whizzing down the freeway at a speed just below what I can lift off
at.

in through the gate to the airfield past the 30km speed limit signs at
50 or so, down the bitumen taxiway and around to my hangar ...which
btw is one of the very original hangars on the airfield, and with it's
carefully manicured rusting galvanised sheets is well on the way to
having a heritage listing.

my little aeroplane was sitting there innocently waiting.
pull it quickly out of the hangar and roll it forward to the little
length of chain that sits glued in my taxiway as a chock.
stick another 10 litres of avgas into the tank to top it off again and
whiz the car into the hangar and lock the doors behind it.

muselie bars reachable in the glove box, maps sorted back into the
correct order of use, water bottles shuffled into reachable positions
behind the seat. nothing missing.
master on, magnetos on ....bugger where's the key?

bugger bugger bugger. off with the headset, undo the seatbelt, stow
the maps over near the ersa on the far dash and innocently hop out of
the cockpit so that the leg can be straightened and the key in the
bottom of the pocket reached. beside it is the swiss army knife which
the chief pilot of this airline sees as an essential piece of survival
gear to be carried at all times.
key fetched it is time to depart.
fumble rustle fumble fumble and all is back in order.
stir the porridge, step on each foot, master on, maggies on, "clear
off peasants" and the secret start procedure is initiated.
on the second blade the little engine catches and winds up into life.
....then it dies.
give it a bit more prime, set a quarter inch nudge and start again.
third blade this time and the little character winds up into a steady
1500 rpm. as we start forward into the taxi we pull off to 1,000 rpm
and taxy out on to the bitumen taxiway.
one radio call which will probably only be heard by a radio equipped
grulak somewhere beyond pegasus as they scan the heavens in search of
life and we trundle down the taxiway past the clubhouse.
After a maggie check which shows that the stealth pilot's bead blast
of the spark plugs has worked beautifully, we make one more radio call
and launch forth from runway 23.

throttle up, and we accelerate forward, stick forward to lift the
tailwheel off the deck and the tail decides not to lift off the
ground. patience, patience, patience and finally we lift the tail off.
accelerate, accelerate, bounce bounce and finally we hit 60 knots and
start a gentle rotate heavenward. after 65 knots we actually lift off
into the hot thin atmosphere. after an anaemic climb to 500ft we enter
a sweeping left turn and continue it around, climbing all the while,
until we can set course back across the airfield to note the time.
Meekatharra to refuel via Northam and Mount Dale is the plan.
Apart from our calls to grulak and the Murray Field beepback message
we are alone in the sky on climb to 3000ft. Click over to the Perth
RAS frequency to listen to the cooking show (lots of omelette recipes
read out to airservices radio guys who pretend to be interested)
A check of the ASI shows just a tad under 120 knots while the GPS
shows 135 knots. The cloud proves to be at about 3,000ft which means
that just by flying under it we will stay below the edge of the
infernal controlled airspace step just in our way on a direct route to
Northam. We stay at 2 and a half thousand and head for Mount Dale.

As we round Mt Dale at low level (to stay below the controlled
airspace your honour :-) ) we take in the beauty of the solar panel
array, the little brick building and the teensy radio tower then it is
off to Northam over the clandestine marijuana plantings in the
national forest.

The first breaks in the scrub of tiger country remind me that I need
to take photos on the flight for the guys in the office.
Out with the camera tucked into the passenger seat beside the laptop
and squeeze off a few shots. Just to remind me that hewie is really
the weather god from hell the turbulence starts up as I try to squeeze
off an alderton quality shot. A couple of other shots and I'm
convinced that I'll have a memory card full of blurred images. damn
this accursed turbulence. As Northam hales into view we ease up to
3000ft. Another few turbulence ruined shots with the digital camera
and we set course to Meekatharra.

Out to the north of Northam I find the landscape intrigueing. From a
height all hills vanish and the earth appears to be smooth but this
landscape looks flat. some of the flattest country I've ever seen.
While I'm debating whether the flatness is an illusion I notice that
the landscape is dotted with salt lakes. even the rivers cant find
lower levels in this environment. I consult the erc low and change
frequencies on occasion but spend most of the time taking photos
ruined by turbulence and marvelling at the flatness of it all.
Eventually a huge expanse of drying salt lakes appears below me and
extending off to the east and north by quite a distance. Lake Moore in
all its desolate majesty tracks by at 135knots. More Photos, all
ruined by turbulence, get taken as I seek to share the views below me.
Off in the distance I can see the outer edges of the farmed land.
Ahead it starts to look ever so desolate.

Around Paynes Find I start to recognise features that I last saw 30
years ago as a young Surveyor working to establish the control for the
first 1:100,000 scale mapping of the area.

Out of the murk appears an open cut mine with a superb dirt airstrip.
I mark it on the map for later reference near Nalbarra. A few more
photos are ruined by Hewies infernal turbulence and the desolation
gives way to an immaculate bitumen runway parallelling the Great
Northern Highway just south of Mount Magnet which is just appearing
from the murk.

The question of how far Perth's bad weather extends is finally
answered as we fly out from under the last vestiges of cloud into
clear blue skies. The little continental responds as I push in the
throttle to climb to 5,500ft and into cooler air. My first water
bottle is finally finished and has appeared on my skin almost
immediately in the heat and neatly soaked into my shirt. Cracking the
air vents open further gives me all the comforts of airconditioning.
I think I had finished another bottle of water before Meekatharra.

Doubts had started to creep into the back of the mind regarding the
soundness of the little continental. Leaning of the mixture had become
quite abrupt. the engine would faulter on full rich, run roughly as
the mixture control was leaned and just past peak RPM the engine would
smooth right out. hmmm ignore that, adjust back to peak rpm and wind
the mixture back in for two turns. bugger the roughness. headphones
off to listen and the old continental note of old comes blasting
through. A dribble of water runs out of each earpiece down my shirt. A
fumble to find a cloth to wipe them clean reveals a sodden lump in the
bottom of the other pocket. cant reach the handkerchief so back on the
headset goes only to slide into an uncomfortable position with some
leaking of air from the gel seal which obviously hasnt sealed.

When I finally get the headphones to sit properly the wet expanses of
Lake Austin commence the vanishing below the nose of my aircraft.
I take more turbulence ruined photos and quietly despair as the engine
note sounds even rougher. I commence having thoughts of impending
bearing failure and decide that if the engine is going to fail all
attempts to pussyfoot with it will be wasted effort. I decide to
ignore the changed note of the engine and bore on regardless.
I note with some chagrin that on the GPS our groundspeed has slowed
to be within one knot of indicated.

Tuckabiana airstrip vanishes underneath anothe photo session ruined by
turbulence. Reedys airstrip allows me at least one good shot followed
by a few ruined by turbulence.
By Lake Annean the engine note is even worse. Not only do I have
impending crankshaft failure but almost certainly there is a crack
developing in the muffler. Another water bottle is finished to be
perspired immediately into my soaked shirt and pants.
With 25 nautical miles to run into Meekatharra we press the radio flip
flop button to bring the ctaf frequency into function. The runway
details are glanced at again and a Cessna twin radios established on a
5 mile final for runway 27. Over the top the windsock finally comes
into view with the sock hanging limply to the east. We peel off into a
left circuit for 27.
With forward speed gone the taxy in becomes an oven roasting session.
In behind the cessna twin we pull to wait our turn for a refuel.
When the refueller points out the toilets I find that amazingly I have
no need or desire to visit. While we refuel we all chat as though we
were old familiar friends. The common brotherhood of aviation seems
stronger here in the desolate north and it works well to push away the
isolation.

After takeoff from Meekatharra I find again that the engine is
difficult to lean out, the climb performance abysmal. The good point
is that the flatness of the hot landscape reveals the curvature of the
earth well and as we travel away from meekatharra to an even more
desolate region we can see evidence that we are climbing. This time I
climb to 7,500ft into cooler air. I find the flying more comfortable
and the engine seems happier. The familiar Karalundi Aboriginal
Mission passes below and I spend time looking down wondering just how
the kids are going in their studies. With the passing of the green
swathe of river land that Karalundi sits amid well and truely behind
my tail I look out into an even more barren desolate landscape.
Even the mines that gave me comfort before with their forced landing
fields seem few and far between.
I get the shine off a shed and finally catch a glimpse of the Peak
Hill Minesite. Before me is a blank landscape framed in the distance
by the Collier range. No sign of human presence is evident and I start
wondering just what the propagation rate is of the crack in the
muffler and which of the bearings is suffering the worst
deterioration. I take more photos which surely are all blurred smudges
in the turbulence. Even at 7,500ft I get a roller coaster ride over
the Collier Range.

Beyond the Collier Range the landscape becomes one of amazing swirls
of vegetation lines. It is evident that no matter how dry and parched
this land is it is shaped significantly by whatever rainfall it sees.
After what seemed like hours of gradually deteriorating crankshaft
bearings, cranky mixture settings and a cracking muffler the area that
must be Newman comes slowly into view.
Since I'm only listening I dial up the new CTAF frequency that I found
on the Notams. Absoulte silence greets me and just out of curiousity I
dial up the old CTAF frequency. Well a profusion of activity greets me
as aircraft queue for departure and head off to remote sites.
By the time the Capricorn Roadhouse with it's beautiful steak and
salad dinners passes below all has fallen silent on the old CTAF
frequency. My entry radio calls are again only heard by the Grulak
scanning for life in our far universe. Hewie must have been concerned
by my dehydration in the heat so he sent a strong willy willy across
my wings just before touchdown. Bloody lovely hewie, but we made it in
without so much as a bounce.
At Newman I taxyied straight across to the Avgas bowser to refuel.
This would increase the weight of the aircraft and help the tiedowns,
and it would get rid of condensation.
Buggered if I could get the BP swipe bowser to work though.
After about half a dozen goes and a read of the entire inane usage
information I found the bowser as dead as a dodo. A dip of the tank
revealed that I had on board just enough fuel to fly to meekatharra
and refuel on the way back. A call from the fence revealed that my
site contact had found me. I directed him over to the light aircraft
parking area and got back in to taxy over. On the restart I was amazed
to find that the engine started immediately and ran quietly as we
taxyied over to the tiedown area.

I briefed my friend to stay close and we talked as I did the tiedown
and unpacked.
"there's Qantas" he said pointing over my head to the Boeing 717
joining the same circuit I had 10 minutes before.
After the evening flight had parked on the apron and was unloading
luggage and passengers my friend made the observation that the fence
was amazing. On this side I was a trusted mainstream participator in
Australian Aviation tying my aircraft down on the apron beside a jet
worth millions and on the other side I was just a scumbag contractor
to be stuffed around and greeted with the greatest distrust by the
bloody hopeless people. He said he was perpetually amazed by the
environments that we find ourselves working in..

more later.....

Stealth Pilot