X-Virus-Scanned: clean according to Sophos on Logan.com Return-Path: Sender: To: lml@lancaironline.net Date: Tue, 21 Dec 2010 13:24:34 -0500 Message-ID: X-Original-Return-Path: Received: from elasmtp-kukur.atl.sa.earthlink.net ([209.86.89.65] verified) by logan.com (CommuniGate Pro SMTP 5.3.11) with ESMTP id 4648953 for lml@lancaironline.net; Mon, 20 Dec 2010 22:44:23 -0500 Received-SPF: none receiver=logan.com; client-ip=209.86.89.65; envelope-from=colyncase@earthlink.net DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws; s=dk20050327; d=earthlink.net; b=TuYSfVuqCGOQI5PtsM4SfT7tjn5UYIKHvtBW13BasKLGJBdIl+qBNn/ZJ7PTpp/l; h=Received:From:Mime-Version:Content-Type:Subject:Date:In-Reply-To:To:References:Message-Id:X-Mailer:X-ELNK-Trace:X-Originating-IP; Received: from [216.57.118.85] (helo=[192.168.1.103]) by elasmtp-kukur.atl.sa.earthlink.net with esmtpa (Exim 4.67) (envelope-from ) id 1PUt8e-00083X-MK for lml@lancaironline.net; Mon, 20 Dec 2010 22:43:49 -0500 From: Colyn Case Mime-Version: 1.0 (Apple Message framework v1082) Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary=Apple-Mail-113-1063215357 Subject: Re: [LML] Aussie flight rules X-Original-Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2010 22:43:47 -0500 In-Reply-To: X-Original-To: "Lancair Mailing List" References: X-Original-Message-Id: <6470EBA7-ED54-46A8-A5C0-80DA691D8016@earthlink.net> X-Mailer: Apple Mail (2.1082) X-ELNK-Trace: 63d5d3452847f8b1d6dd28457998182d7e972de0d01da940f9031fa37f6906ca9148c20b8866ccbe350badd9bab72f9c350badd9bab72f9c350badd9bab72f9c X-Originating-IP: 216.57.118.85 --Apple-Mail-113-1063215357 Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii what is a QNH? On Dec 19, 2010, at 7:09 PM, Frederick Moreno wrote: > Not sure if this has been posted before. They do things a bit = differently in Outback Australia. Fred > =20 > Mate, > I am writing to you because I need your help to get me bloody pilot's = licence back. You keep telling me you got all the right contacts. Well = now's your chance to make something happen for me because, mate, I'm = bloody desperate But first, I'd better tell you what happened during my = last flight review with the CASA Examiner. >=20 > On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA man), seemed a reasonable sort of a = bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a flight review every = two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look over my property = and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I agreed to that. >=20 > Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, he said he was a bit = surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside my homestead, = because the "ALA" (Authorized Landing Area), is about a mile away. I > explained that because this strip was so close to the homestead, it = was more convenient than the "ALA," and despite the power lines crossing = about midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to land and = take-off, because at the halfway point down the strip you're usually = still on the ground. >=20 > For some reason Ron, seemed nervous. So, although I had done the = pre-flight inspection only four days earlier, I decided to do it all = over again. Because he was watching me carefully, I walked around the = plane three times instead of my usual two.. >=20 > My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned to Ron's = cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's obviously = better mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight with some = farm work, as I had to deliver three "poddy calves" from the home = paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught the = calves and threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We climbed = aboard but Ron, started getting onto me about weight and balance = calculations and all that....... Of course I knew that sort of thing was = a waste of time because calves like to move around a bit, particularly = when they see themselves 500-odd feet off the ground! So, it's pointless = trying to secure them, as you know. However, I did tell Ron that he = shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure = we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout the flight. >=20 > Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the warm-up time = by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 RPM. I then = discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he was wearing a = bloody headset. Through all that noise he detected a metallic rattle and = demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a month ago and was = caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the floor and lodged in = the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be moved now, but it = doesn't matter because it's jammed on "All tanks," so I suppose that's = all right. >=20 > However, as Ron was obviously a nit-picker, I blamed the noise on = vibration from a stainless steel thermos flask which I keep between the = windshield and the magnetic compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron, = because he slumped back in the seat and kept looking up at the cockpit = roof I released the brakes to taxi out, but unfortunately the plane gave = a leap and spun to the right. "Hell" I thought, "not the starboard wheel = chock again." >=20 > The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked around just in = time to see a stone thrown up by the prop-wash disappear completely = through the windscreen of his brand new Holden Commodore. "Now I'm = really in trouble," I thought... >=20 > While Ron was busy ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement = that we taxi to the "ALA," and instead took off under the power lines. = Ron didn't say a word, at least not until the engine started coughing = right at the lift-off point, and then he bloody screamed his head off. = "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" >=20 > "Now take it easy Ron," I told him firmly. "That often happens on = take-off and there is a good reason for it." I explained patiently that = I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but one day I accidentally = put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate for the low octane of = the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons of super MOGAS and shook the = wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since then, the engine has = been coughing a bit but, in general, it works just fine, if you know how = to coax it properly. >=20 > Anyway, at this stage Ron seemed to lose all interest in my test = flight. He pulled out some rosary beads, closed his eyes and became lost = in prayer (I didn't think anyone was a Catholic these days). I selected = some nice music on the HF radio to help him relax. Meanwhile, I climbed = to my normal cruising altitude of 10,500-feet. I don't normally put in a = flight plan or get the weather because, as you know getting FAX access = out here is a joke and the weather is always "8/8 blue" anyway. But = since I had that near miss with a Saab 340, I might have to change me = thinking on that. >=20 > Anyhow, on levelling out, I noticed some wild camels heading into my = improved pasture. I hate bloody camels, and always carry a loaded 303, = clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see any of the = bastards. >=20 > We were too high to hit them, but as a matter of principle, I decided = to have a go through the open window. Mate, when I pulled the bloody = rifle out, the effect on Ron, was electric. As I fired the first shot = his neck lengthened by about six inches and his eyes bulged like a = rabbit with myxo. He really looked as if he had > been jabbed with an electric cattle prod on full power. In fact, Ron's = reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration for a second and = the next shot went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a bit upset = about the shooting (probably one of those animal lovers I guess) so I = decided not to tell him about our little > problem with the tyre. >=20 > Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to do my = fighter pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one smooth = sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a sideslip = from 10,500-feet down to 500-feet at 130 knots indicated (the last time = I looked anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red area on me = ASI. What a buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I looked back = in the cabin to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid air and = mooing like crazy. I was going to comment to Ron on this unusual sight, = but he looked a bit green and had rolled himself into the foetal = position and was screamin' his freakin' head off. Mate, talk about being = in a bloody zoo. You should've been there, it was so bloody funny! >=20 > At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we kept sinking. = When we reached 50-feet, I applied full power but nothin' happened. No = noise, no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's voice in me = head saying "carb heat, carb heat." So I pulled carb heat on and that = helped quite a lot, with the engine > finally regaining full power. Whew, that was really close, let me tell = you! >=20 > Then mate, you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have = it, at that height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the = cattle and suddenly went I.F. bloody R, mate. BJ, you would have been = really proud of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a = mental note to consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is = repaired (something I've been meaning to do for a while (now). Suddenly = Ron's elongated neck and bulging eyes reappeared. His Mouth opened wide, = very wide, but no sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be = out of this in a minute." Sure enough, about a minute later we emerged, = still straight and level and still at 50-feet. >=20 > Admittedly I was surprised to notice that we were upside down, and I = kept thinking to myself, "I hope Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten = to set the QNH when we were taxiing." This minor tribulation forced me = to fly to a nearby valley in which I had to do a half roll to get = upright again. >=20 > By now the main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow = strip between them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right = there." Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a = couple of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was = blaring so loud in me ear that I cut its > circuit breaker to shut it up, but by then I knew we were slow enough = anyway. I turned steeply onto a 75-foot final and put her down with a = real thud. Strangely enough, I had always thought you could only ground = loop in a tail dragger but, as usual, I was proved wrong again! >=20 > Halfway through our third loop, Ron at last recovered his sense of = humour. Talk about laugh. I've never seen the likes of it. He couldn't = stop. We finally rolled to a halt and I released the calves who bolted = out of the aircraft like there was no tomorrow. >=20 > I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between gut-wrenching fits = of laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained that we had to = stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to the homestead. It = was then that Ron, really lost the plot and started running away from = the aircraft. Can you believe it? The last time I saw him he was off = into the distance, arms flailing in the air and still shrieking with = laughter. I later heard that he had been confined to a psychiatric = institution - poor bugger! >=20 > Anyhow mate, that's enough about Ron. The problem is I got this letter = from CASA 'withdrawing', as they put it, my privileges to fly; until I = have undergone a complete pilot training course again and undertaken = another flight proficiency test. >=20 > Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel chock and = not setting the QNH using strip elevation, but I can't see what else I = did that was a so bloody bad that they have to withdraw me > flamin' license. Can you? >=20 >=20 >=20 >=20 > =20 > =20 --Apple-Mail-113-1063215357 Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii what is a QNH?

On Dec 19, 2010, = at 7:09 PM, Frederick Moreno wrote:

Not sure if this has been posted before.  They = do things a bit differently in Outback = Australia.     = Fred
 
Mate,
I am writing to you because I need = your help to get me bloody pilot's licence back. You keep telling me you = got all the right contacts. Well now's your chance to make something = happen for me because, mate, I'm bloody desperate But first, I'd better = tell you what happened during my last flight review with the CASA = Examiner.

On the phone, Ron (that's the CASA man), seemed a = reasonable sort of a bloke. He politely reminded me of the need to do a = flight review every two years. He even offered to drive out, have a look = over my property and let me operate from my own strip. Naturally I = agreed to that.

Anyway, Ron turned up last Wednesday. First up, = he said he was a bit surprised to see the plane on a small strip outside = my homestead, because the "ALA" (Authorized Landing Area), is about a = mile away. I
explained that because this strip was so close to the = homestead, it was more convenient than the "ALA," and despite the power = lines crossing about midway down the strip, it's really not a problem to = land and take-off, because at the halfway point down the strip you're = usually still on the ground.

For some reason Ron, seemed nervous. = So, although I had done the pre-flight inspection only four days = earlier, I decided to do it all over again. Because he was watching me = carefully, I walked around the plane three times instead of my usual = two..

My effort was rewarded because the colour finally returned = to Ron's cheeks. In fact, they went a bright red. In view of Ron's = obviously better mood, I told him I was going to combine the test flight = with some farm work, as I had to deliver three "poddy calves" from the = home paddock to the main herd. After a bit of a chase I finally caught = the calves and threw them into the back of the ol' Cessna 172. We = climbed aboard but Ron, started getting onto me about weight and balance = calculations and all that....... Of course I knew that sort of thing was = a waste of time because calves like to move around a bit, particularly = when they see themselves 500-odd feet off the ground! So, it's pointless = trying to secure them, as you know. However, I did tell Ron that he = shouldn't worry as I always keep the trim wheel set on neutral to ensure = we remain pretty stable at all stages throughout the = flight.

Anyway, I started the engine and cleverly minimized the = warm-up time by tramping hard on the brakes and gunning her to 2,500 = RPM. I then discovered that Ron has very acute hearing, even though he = was wearing a bloody headset. Through all that noise he detected a = metallic rattle and demanded I account for it. Actually it began about a = month ago and was caused by a screwdriver that fell down a hole in the = floor and lodged in the fuel selector mechanism. The selector can't be = moved now, but it doesn't matter because it's jammed on "All tanks," so = I suppose that's all right.

However, as Ron was obviously a = nit-picker, I blamed the noise on vibration from a stainless steel = thermos flask which I keep between the windshield and the magnetic = compass. My explanation seemed to relax Ron, because he slumped back in = the seat and kept looking up at the cockpit roof I released the brakes = to taxi out, but unfortunately the plane gave a leap and spun to the = right. "Hell" I thought, "not the starboard wheel chock = again."

The bump jolted Ron back to full alertness. He looked = around just in time to see a stone thrown up by the prop-wash disappear = completely through the windscreen of his brand new Holden Commodore. = "Now I'm really in trouble," I thought...

While Ron was busy = ranting about his car, I ignored his requirement that we taxi to the = "ALA," and instead took off under the power lines. Ron didn't say a = word, at least not until the engine started coughing right at the = lift-off point, and then he bloody screamed his head off. "Oh God! Oh = God! Oh God!"

"Now take it easy Ron," I told him firmly. "That = often happens on take-off and there is a good reason for it." I = explained patiently that I usually run the plane on standard MOGAS, but = one day I accidentally put in a gallon or two of kerosene. To compensate = for the low octane of the kerosene, I siphoned in a few gallons of super = MOGAS and shook the wings up and down a few times to mix it up. Since = then, the engine has been coughing a bit but, in general, it works just = fine, if you know how to coax it properly.

Anyway, at this stage = Ron seemed to lose all interest in my test flight. He pulled out some = rosary beads, closed his eyes and became lost in prayer (I didn't think = anyone was a Catholic these days). I selected some nice music on the HF = radio to help him relax. Meanwhile, I climbed to my normal cruising = altitude of 10,500-feet. I don't normally put in a flight plan or get = the weather because, as you know getting FAX access out here is a joke = and the weather is always "8/8 blue" anyway. But since I had that near = miss with a Saab 340, I might have to change me thinking on = that.

Anyhow, on levelling out, I noticed some wild camels = heading into my improved pasture. I hate bloody camels, and always carry = a loaded 303, clipped inside the door of the Cessna just in case I see = any of the bastards.

We were too high to hit them, but as a = matter of principle, I decided to have a go through the open window. = Mate, when I pulled the bloody rifle out, the effect on Ron, was = electric. As I fired the first shot his neck lengthened by about six = inches and his eyes bulged like a rabbit with myxo. He really looked as = if he had
been jabbed with an electric cattle prod on full power. In = fact, Ron's reaction was so distracting that I lost concentration for a = second and the next shot went straight through the port tyre. Ron was a = bit upset about the shooting (probably one of those animal lovers I = guess) so I decided not to tell him about our little
problem with the = tyre.

Shortly afterwards I located the main herd and decided to = do my fighter pilot trick. Ron had gone back to praying when, in one = smooth sequence, I pulled on full flaps, cut the power and started a = sideslip from 10,500-feet down to 500-feet at 130 knots indicated (the = last time I looked anyway) and the little needle rushed up to the red = area on me ASI. What a buzz, mate! About half way through the descent I = looked back in the cabin to see the calves gracefully suspended in mid = air and mooing like crazy. I was going to comment to Ron on this unusual = sight, but he looked a bit green and had rolled himself into the foetal = position and was screamin' his freakin' head off. Mate, talk about being = in a bloody zoo. You should've been there, it was so bloody = funny!

At about 500 feet I levelled out, but for some reason we = kept sinking. When we reached 50-feet, I applied full power but nothin' = happened. No noise, no nothin'. Then, luckily, I heard me instructor's = voice in me head saying "carb heat, carb heat." So I pulled carb heat on = and that helped quite a lot, with the engine
finally regaining full = power. Whew, that was really close, let me tell you!

Then mate, = you'll never guess what happened next! As luck would have it, at that = height we flew into a massive dust cloud caused by the cattle and = suddenly went I.F. bloody R, mate. BJ, you would have been really proud = of me as I didn't panic once, not once, but I did make a mental note to = consider an instrument rating as soon as me gyro is repaired (something = I've been meaning to do for a while (now). Suddenly Ron's elongated neck = and bulging eyes reappeared. His Mouth opened wide, very wide, but no = sound emerged. "Take it easy," I told him, "we'll be out of this in a = minute." Sure enough, about a minute later we emerged, still straight = and level and still at 50-feet.

Admittedly I was surprised to = notice that we were upside down, and I kept thinking to myself, "I hope = Ron didn't notice that I had forgotten to set the QNH when we were = taxiing." This minor tribulation forced me to fly to a nearby valley in = which I had to do a half roll to get upright again.

By now the = main herd had divided into two groups leaving a narrow strip between = them. "Ah!" I thought, "there's an omen. We'll land right there." = Knowing that the tyre problem demanded a slow approach, I flew a couple = of steep turns with full flap. Soon the stall warning horn was blaring = so loud in me ear that I cut its
circuit breaker to shut it up, but = by then I knew we were slow enough anyway. I turned steeply onto a = 75-foot final and put her down with a real thud. Strangely enough, I had = always thought you could only ground loop in a tail dragger but, as = usual, I was proved wrong again!

Halfway through our third loop, = Ron at last recovered his sense of humour. Talk about laugh. I've never = seen the likes of it. He couldn't stop. We finally rolled to a halt and = I released the calves who bolted out of the aircraft like there was no = tomorrow.

I then began picking clumps of dry grass. Between = gut-wrenching fits of laughter, Ron asked what I was doing. I explained = that we had to stuff the port tyre with grass so we could fly back to = the homestead. It was then that Ron, really lost the plot and started = running away from the aircraft. Can you believe it? The last time I saw = him he was off into the distance, arms flailing in the air and still = shrieking with laughter. I later heard that he had been confined to a = psychiatric institution - poor bugger!

Anyhow mate, that's enough = about Ron. The problem is I got this letter from CASA 'withdrawing', as = they put it, my privileges to fly; until I have undergone a complete = pilot training course again and undertaken another flight proficiency = test.

Now I admit that I made a mistake in taxiing over the wheel = chock and not setting the QNH using strip elevation, but I can't see = what else I did that was a so bloody bad that they have to withdraw = me
flamin' license. Can you?




 
 
<= /span>

= --Apple-Mail-113-1063215357--