Heart and Soul..But, I do wonder.
Sometimes, you just have to sit back and drift along 'memory lane'. I met Wilf at boarding school; just kids. His folks in India, mine in Spain, both of us strangers – but he could play the piano – a bit. I received an email not too long ago from him; with a link _HERE_ related (tongue in cheek) to our first (and only) hilarious attempt at a duet. He could: me, a clumsy Philistine (never did get it). No matter, the link is to a couple of very talented kids who could actually play the perennial – 'heart and soul' – catchy little tune; occasionally whistled, when the rhythm of mallet on chisel matches. …. Anyway, it took me back to times when both 'heart and soul' were freely and happily totally invested in the best industry a man could be aspire to – aviation. So forgive the ramble to follow, ignore it – if it pleases; either way, I intend to write it.
More years ago than I care to remember, Sunday was always a favourite day. Monday to Friday, two jobs and 'Tech' at night, followed by homework and study. Saws, nails, joists, studs and noggins 'on-site' – 0700 until 1500; packing boxes 1600 until 1830 – lessons 1900 until 2030 – home; bite to eat, study and notes (still got 'em) – Saturday catch up, study, a couple of Ales and blessed sleep. Sunday 0530 out the door, bus it to borrow the girlfriend's Mum's car and off to Valhalla – a.k.a the airport. Drag the 'fleet' out onto the ramp; fuel 'em up; make the coffee, then off to a very small strip and pick up the 'Ag-Truck' (return, fuel and daily) - set up the banner towing gear; correctly, - then, stand beside it as the Ag pilot swooped in, keep him on line and wave him up just before 'contact'; leaving me dust covered and as happy as the proverbial pig in (it). Scamper back with the gear, say G'day to the Firemen who I knew; just in time to refuel the used aircraft, then put 'em away and roll the hanger doors closed. Recompense – 30 minutes solo or 15 minutes dual. A grand day; completely buggered by the end of it; after the returning aircraft all needed to go back into the hanger. Sitting in the car, watching the sun go down and being the happiest man on the planet. But, I do now confess; I prayed for bad weather; it meant I could get a bus (my expense) to wherever an aircraft had been left – due to weather – and bring it home. That was the bonus; the biggest KPI of all KPI's: hard earned and priceless. Etc..
Point fool; there must be a point. There exist aircraft such as the Chipmunk, the Ryan and the P51 which have descended into legend, as have the pilots who knew them and flew them. Not just as an 'exhibition' item; but as a working tool. Men who were happy to sit 10, 20 or even 50 hours on the wing explaining the intricacies, tendencies, habits and traps these aircraft presented to a child. I manged, in my own clumsy way, not to smash one (or two; or even perhaps three) up, and saved my own rear end in the process through listening. They were available to me; and, I cherished every rivet, every foible and idiosyncrasy; they became 'kindred' as were those who had the time, knowledge and patience to teach a Philistine in the ways 'of surviving the winds of fate. For it is indeed the Hunter. Aye, Gods speed 'em; one and all.
Have - 'We' - simply lost our way; lost that rich heritage through 'law' – and; (dare I say it) not only our basic 'understanding' skills, but have 'we' had the 'heart and soul' of being an aviator beaten out of us by the unrelenting pressure of those who's heart and souls reside in an air conditioned luxury far removed from the dust, dirt and grind of flying – real flying – of the kind that matters – that which ensures survival. For example: as far back as memory allows, I was taught to set up a rate 1 turn by 'visual' reference; that at IAS +7 + a rate 1 turn could be made; and, importantly, to confirm my 'interpretation' of attitude by reference to the AHI and ASI - 80 KIAS + 7 = 15 ⁰, thereby making it an easy transition to an IFR rate 1 turn; habit formed at about hour eight - by my first log book. Many of these rules of thumb, and the quick, easy, accurate reasons they 'worked' have been almost forgotten or not learned, like stall turns and wing overs. Yet, they were valid then, still valid now (mathematics/ physics of flight – (anyone?) – but now lost in the myriad of complexity generated by those who do not, cannot, nor even dare to make a living 'in the air'. Can you imagine a creature like Spence being thrown into a Beaver, in 35 C heat and told to go kill Grasshoppers around the Tumut hills on a hot, murky day after a 25 minute exercise in the circuit? No?. So how can anyone from the Canberra 'elite' safety authority circle dare to presume that they, and only they 'know' what safety in the air is, or how it is achieved, despite their delusions of 'how it all should work'. Aye; the 'mystique' of aviation still (always has) baffles those who belong, firmly, affixed to ground based grubbing thoughts?.
“Safety” standing alone, is and always has been an indefinable equation. Was I 'safe' as the Ag pilot steamed in with only 3 yards between me and the triple pronged hook coming toward me at 65 knots; I reckoned I was; he knew what he was doing; I knew what the 'risks' were – apart from the dust and the Bull ants out on the paddock – I was safer then, than I ever was driving home.
Somehow; the notion of regulation as the ultimate 'safety' measure has become Gospel. Well; it ain't. Simple rule 1 – Thou shalt not run out of fuel – Duh!? We know that. Thou shalt not continue thy flight into the clouds and rain -Duh? We know that: Thou shalt not fly into a valley lest thy back door not be open -Duh? We know that. So the questions posed become simple ones. Why, despite the billions spent do these 'events' keep happening? Gods know I've never done any of it – taken some calculated risks – certainly. But; the folks who taught me never ever heard of this new jingoistic crap – they, quite simply, just knew and understood the world they lived in – the real one. Where a copy of the regulations in your back pocket, will not, nor can it, not ever, replace an 'understanding' of what we do; how we do it, and the difference between those as can and those who simply just don't get it; hard as they try to be part of the never ending challenge. The one that defies 'rigorous' black and white quantifying, Those who choose to work for Canberra have a distorted vision of the real reality and try, desperately, expensively, to comprehend that which is only known to those that 'can'. But enough; I could use the last words of a Buffett song, the one about the West Nashville ballrooms and the gowns and etc.. But I won't – however, should you wish to hear it – HERE - it is.
“What” ? I was asked by a young sprout, “is the difference between a Carpenter, Joiner and Cabinet maker”? Well, that has never been a mystery – the first stroke of the saw will tell the tale to the educated observer. For the rest, 'tis but a simple matter. Carpenter – sundial – cabinet maker a Rolex. But, what of Joiners asks my young apprentice? Also easy; a 'joiner' can 'make' a door; a carpenter can 'hang' it and attach the furnishings. Same as 'drivers – airframe'. Blind following of the rules that govern versus those who can actually make and and even use 'rules'; and those who can use those rules to make, and execute a thing of beauty with precision; style, grace and heart and soul and do it easily. – It becomes a matter of education, training and a natural talent. CASA is an apprentice carpenter, posing in the pub – as a Cabinet maker; but can't even define the saw they intend to use,, let alone sharpen the saw they intend to use before task. This, letting alone that they may not even understand why it must be sharpened in a particular way. Basic skills will only get you so far; to become an 'expert' you must pass the tests and be judged by your peers. I would like to see anyone at CASA be able to cut a straight, square cross cut of a 4x 2; let alone realise and correct the failures resident within, then repair, manage and run an industry of which they have no real understanding, and worse still could not survive in as aircrew, let lone as the gold star 'command'. Most of 'em could not hit the side of a barn, wind assisted, with a shovelful of the shit they produce. Uhmm; wanna a game of darts – for money? Didn't think so.
Selah.....
Sometimes, you just have to sit back and drift along 'memory lane'. I met Wilf at boarding school; just kids. His folks in India, mine in Spain, both of us strangers – but he could play the piano – a bit. I received an email not too long ago from him; with a link _HERE_ related (tongue in cheek) to our first (and only) hilarious attempt at a duet. He could: me, a clumsy Philistine (never did get it). No matter, the link is to a couple of very talented kids who could actually play the perennial – 'heart and soul' – catchy little tune; occasionally whistled, when the rhythm of mallet on chisel matches. …. Anyway, it took me back to times when both 'heart and soul' were freely and happily totally invested in the best industry a man could be aspire to – aviation. So forgive the ramble to follow, ignore it – if it pleases; either way, I intend to write it.
More years ago than I care to remember, Sunday was always a favourite day. Monday to Friday, two jobs and 'Tech' at night, followed by homework and study. Saws, nails, joists, studs and noggins 'on-site' – 0700 until 1500; packing boxes 1600 until 1830 – lessons 1900 until 2030 – home; bite to eat, study and notes (still got 'em) – Saturday catch up, study, a couple of Ales and blessed sleep. Sunday 0530 out the door, bus it to borrow the girlfriend's Mum's car and off to Valhalla – a.k.a the airport. Drag the 'fleet' out onto the ramp; fuel 'em up; make the coffee, then off to a very small strip and pick up the 'Ag-Truck' (return, fuel and daily) - set up the banner towing gear; correctly, - then, stand beside it as the Ag pilot swooped in, keep him on line and wave him up just before 'contact'; leaving me dust covered and as happy as the proverbial pig in (it). Scamper back with the gear, say G'day to the Firemen who I knew; just in time to refuel the used aircraft, then put 'em away and roll the hanger doors closed. Recompense – 30 minutes solo or 15 minutes dual. A grand day; completely buggered by the end of it; after the returning aircraft all needed to go back into the hanger. Sitting in the car, watching the sun go down and being the happiest man on the planet. But, I do now confess; I prayed for bad weather; it meant I could get a bus (my expense) to wherever an aircraft had been left – due to weather – and bring it home. That was the bonus; the biggest KPI of all KPI's: hard earned and priceless. Etc..
Point fool; there must be a point. There exist aircraft such as the Chipmunk, the Ryan and the P51 which have descended into legend, as have the pilots who knew them and flew them. Not just as an 'exhibition' item; but as a working tool. Men who were happy to sit 10, 20 or even 50 hours on the wing explaining the intricacies, tendencies, habits and traps these aircraft presented to a child. I manged, in my own clumsy way, not to smash one (or two; or even perhaps three) up, and saved my own rear end in the process through listening. They were available to me; and, I cherished every rivet, every foible and idiosyncrasy; they became 'kindred' as were those who had the time, knowledge and patience to teach a Philistine in the ways 'of surviving the winds of fate. For it is indeed the Hunter. Aye, Gods speed 'em; one and all.
Have - 'We' - simply lost our way; lost that rich heritage through 'law' – and; (dare I say it) not only our basic 'understanding' skills, but have 'we' had the 'heart and soul' of being an aviator beaten out of us by the unrelenting pressure of those who's heart and souls reside in an air conditioned luxury far removed from the dust, dirt and grind of flying – real flying – of the kind that matters – that which ensures survival. For example: as far back as memory allows, I was taught to set up a rate 1 turn by 'visual' reference; that at IAS +7 + a rate 1 turn could be made; and, importantly, to confirm my 'interpretation' of attitude by reference to the AHI and ASI - 80 KIAS + 7 = 15 ⁰, thereby making it an easy transition to an IFR rate 1 turn; habit formed at about hour eight - by my first log book. Many of these rules of thumb, and the quick, easy, accurate reasons they 'worked' have been almost forgotten or not learned, like stall turns and wing overs. Yet, they were valid then, still valid now (mathematics/ physics of flight – (anyone?) – but now lost in the myriad of complexity generated by those who do not, cannot, nor even dare to make a living 'in the air'. Can you imagine a creature like Spence being thrown into a Beaver, in 35 C heat and told to go kill Grasshoppers around the Tumut hills on a hot, murky day after a 25 minute exercise in the circuit? No?. So how can anyone from the Canberra 'elite' safety authority circle dare to presume that they, and only they 'know' what safety in the air is, or how it is achieved, despite their delusions of 'how it all should work'. Aye; the 'mystique' of aviation still (always has) baffles those who belong, firmly, affixed to ground based grubbing thoughts?.
“Safety” standing alone, is and always has been an indefinable equation. Was I 'safe' as the Ag pilot steamed in with only 3 yards between me and the triple pronged hook coming toward me at 65 knots; I reckoned I was; he knew what he was doing; I knew what the 'risks' were – apart from the dust and the Bull ants out on the paddock – I was safer then, than I ever was driving home.
Somehow; the notion of regulation as the ultimate 'safety' measure has become Gospel. Well; it ain't. Simple rule 1 – Thou shalt not run out of fuel – Duh!? We know that. Thou shalt not continue thy flight into the clouds and rain -Duh? We know that: Thou shalt not fly into a valley lest thy back door not be open -Duh? We know that. So the questions posed become simple ones. Why, despite the billions spent do these 'events' keep happening? Gods know I've never done any of it – taken some calculated risks – certainly. But; the folks who taught me never ever heard of this new jingoistic crap – they, quite simply, just knew and understood the world they lived in – the real one. Where a copy of the regulations in your back pocket, will not, nor can it, not ever, replace an 'understanding' of what we do; how we do it, and the difference between those as can and those who simply just don't get it; hard as they try to be part of the never ending challenge. The one that defies 'rigorous' black and white quantifying, Those who choose to work for Canberra have a distorted vision of the real reality and try, desperately, expensively, to comprehend that which is only known to those that 'can'. But enough; I could use the last words of a Buffett song, the one about the West Nashville ballrooms and the gowns and etc.. But I won't – however, should you wish to hear it – HERE - it is.
“What” ? I was asked by a young sprout, “is the difference between a Carpenter, Joiner and Cabinet maker”? Well, that has never been a mystery – the first stroke of the saw will tell the tale to the educated observer. For the rest, 'tis but a simple matter. Carpenter – sundial – cabinet maker a Rolex. But, what of Joiners asks my young apprentice? Also easy; a 'joiner' can 'make' a door; a carpenter can 'hang' it and attach the furnishings. Same as 'drivers – airframe'. Blind following of the rules that govern versus those who can actually make and and even use 'rules'; and those who can use those rules to make, and execute a thing of beauty with precision; style, grace and heart and soul and do it easily. – It becomes a matter of education, training and a natural talent. CASA is an apprentice carpenter, posing in the pub – as a Cabinet maker; but can't even define the saw they intend to use,, let alone sharpen the saw they intend to use before task. This, letting alone that they may not even understand why it must be sharpened in a particular way. Basic skills will only get you so far; to become an 'expert' you must pass the tests and be judged by your peers. I would like to see anyone at CASA be able to cut a straight, square cross cut of a 4x 2; let alone realise and correct the failures resident within, then repair, manage and run an industry of which they have no real understanding, and worse still could not survive in as aircrew, let lone as the gold star 'command'. Most of 'em could not hit the side of a barn, wind assisted, with a shovelful of the shit they produce. Uhmm; wanna a game of darts – for money? Didn't think so.
Selah.....