Do you spell "Beginning" with one "n" or two.
What a shitty start. Anyways, I first started flying when I was a tiny little
kid in Kingston, Ontario in the late 60's. My father, a retired military pilot,
would rent airplanes from the Kingston Flying Club and I would tag along,
which in retrospect was rather nice of him. I'm sure I was a pain in the @ss
as a small child, and I don't think I've changed much since then.
Oddly, KFC would rent ski-planes. I remember as a little kid in the 1960's
freezing my @ss off in FMP, a champ on skiis in winter. My father took his
big old military boots off, and so I could put my shoes inside his boots, and
I wondered how he could keep warm in sock feet, because Champ heaters
suck moose cocks. It would be some decades before I learned about the
cube-square law.
In 1971 my father bought a nearly new 1967 Maule M4-210C for the enormous
sum of $11,000 which is pocket change today, but back then, was a pile of
money and all the other pilots in Kingston thought he was nuts. But, we still
have that Maule, all these decades later.
[img width=500 height=262][/img]
I love it dearly, like one of my dogs, and I like my dogs far more than I like most people.
Better character.
When I was a little kid, that airplane scared the shit out of me. My father neglected
to mention that grown men with pilots licences and hundreds of hours could not fly
it. Incredibly, he learned to fly on a Harvard, which is about the worst primary trainer
you can imagine, so he had no sympathy whatsoever about me learning to fly on a
210hp constant-speed prop taildragger that had no interest whatsoever in flying or
landing in a straight line. The only time that fucking ball was centered was when it
was rapidly passing through the center.
Jesus, I built a lot of character in that airplane.
By time I was 10 years old, in 1973, my father had me propped up with cushions in
the right seat so I could see a little over the dash, and mostly reach the rudder pedals.
No brakes on the right side, but I was too dumb to mention that was a problem.
No intercoms, no headsets, no boom mikes or PTT's in 1973. A speaker in the ceiling
and this microphone with a curly cord and a button on the side you would push with
your thumb. What a fucking noisy airplane it was. Like being inside an engine compartment.
I was on downwind at Toronto Island Airport, and had turned base with a power reduction.
All I had to to was let go of the flight controls and the nose would drop, but I guess I didn't.
We stayed high, and the speed bled off, and my helpful fanged ex-F-104 fighter pilot father
leaned over and shouted in my ear,
"If you don't do something soon, we're going to die".
I was 10 years old.
My father was a fucking amazing stick - he should have died many, many times over
in an airplane, but somehow he managed to become one of the very few old, bold
pilots - by my father was a truly horrible flight instructor. Really bad.
This is actually quite common. I work with an ex-USAF FAIP. No sane pilot in the
air force wants to instruct. They all want to get into a squadron. No one wants to
be a good instructor. That's like being a good toilet cleaner. You want to be a good
toilet cleaner, and spend your life cleaning toilets?
Anyways, my father is a great example that you can take the boy out of the air
force, but you can't take the air force out of the boy. He resigned his permanent
commission in 1965, but those 15 years he spent in the RCAF permanently [s]warped[/s]
changed him. Probably for the good. Jesus, he was a good stick. I had no idea
how good he was, until much later. It's not always easy, growing up with a really
accomplished parent, but since I was such an arrogant little prick, it really wasn't
a problem.
Anyways. I have spent a lifetime flying and fixing airplanes, and I have no regrets,
which I understand is unusual. I have the uneasy feeling that I have had more fun
in my lifetime than 10 normal people. Neil has asked me to write some articles here,
and I'm always happy to talk about my favorite activities. If you like airplanes, motorcycles,
dogs, music from 1965-1985, guns and screwing, you might be entertained. Or offended.
Either is fine with me.
The main problem for me, is that I can't tell the best stories. No statute of limitations
in aviation, so we have to be careful.
[img width=500 height=349][/img]
In The Beginning
-
Chuck Ellsworth
[quote]If you like airplanes, motorcycles,
dogs, music from 1965-1985, guns and screwing, you might be entertained. Or offended.
Either is fine with me.[/quote]
What the fuck is wrong with you Colonel.
Screwing should have been first on the list not last.
dogs, music from 1965-1985, guns and screwing, you might be entertained. Or offended.
Either is fine with me.[/quote]
What the fuck is wrong with you Colonel.
Screwing should have been first on the list not last.
