After many years of watching helicopters swish up and down the bay, and of course living with them clattering overhead doing their resupplies when on boats in Antarctica, I'd often said "that must be an incredible thing to do."
And now I can say it is.
Fathers day 2010, someone must have raided an awfully large piggy-bank, cos my present was not just a ride in one, but an actual one-on-one with an instructor and a go at the controls. Suffice to say, it now makes driving a (manual) car seem a doddle.The initial briefing last about 25 minutes, after which I was so confused by "cyclics" (the joystick between your legs which can make you dive or bank and turn), "collectives" (the 'handbrake-like thing' that you lift to change the pitch of the blades and go up, as well as twist to increase revs - though you generally keep this quite steady), and "anti-torque pedals" (that control the rudder so you can turn from side to side) that I clean forgot the instructors name (Cathy. Sorry.)
I hoped this wouldn't be a problem.
After buckling up and headsets on, about a zillion switches were flicked and the thing burst into life. The thing being a Schweizer 300 CBi , a neat little sports coupe' two seater.
Hence I was somewhat surprised it sounded like a truck. And didn't have a Ride of the Valkyries soundtrack.
Cathy called the tower and we were off.
Straight towards a flock of seagulls.
This, apparently, is a hazard, so we crept up on them until they'd all been scared off and not been sliced and diced, bamix style. Birds dispatched, we headed east, climbing up to 1000ft and heading off over Breaside park and the green wedge between Dandenong South and Chelsea Heights.
Just as we did, Cathy said...
"Ok, we're level - you take the cyclic".
After remembering what the cyclic was (the big stick between my legs; no jokes please), I had it in hand. Or rather, perched delicately in my fingers, as this thing is sensitive (no jokes, please) and really only requires finger pressure to get a response (oh come on...).
"I'm in control" I said.
And I was. Even though my taking control coincided with us bouncing up and down a little as we passed under a cloud, and hence for a moment I wondered what in the wide wide world of sports I'd done. To god. Or Stephen Hawking. Or whoever is in charge these days.
I thought I was vaguely flying straight and level, judging by me lining up the horizon with the compass glued to the windscreen (hey, that's what you're told to do), though apparently I was climbing. Which I only realised when Cathy pointed out the altimeter heading north.
Levelled it out; only levelling it out (i.e., dropping the nose) felt like you pitching yourself into a kamikaze dive - it took a little getting used to - and we were off again.
"Ok, you're doing great. Now, take over the collective".
(Quick thought - collective is the handbrake thing.)
"I have control" I replied.
Now there wasn't a lot to do here, as this is basically set and forget for level flight (i.e, you don't lift or drop the handle, just leave it at about 30degrees), though occasionally I'd twist the throttle a little as the revs dropped slightly.
We did a bit of a bank and headed a little more south, then over the intercom comes "Ok, take over the pedals."
Even I could work out what that meant.
Unlike a car, you have two pedals that if you push one in, the other pushes out. Also unlike a car you have a little dial that's a bit like a spirit level, and hence I was constantly checking that and if "the ball is left, push down left" to keep us going straight.
I was in control.
At first I must admit this was quite daunting, as cars were like ants below us, and only an hour before I didn't know a collective from a noun, and here I was in an inherently unstable physics-defying single engined coupe' tottering across the sky.
At 75 knots.
"Do a circuit around here" Cathy suggested, somewhere over Western Port Hwy/Thompsons Rd/Sandhurst . A gentle push on my thumb (i.e., towards the right on the cyclic) and we started banking over and turning. Around we went, no problems. Lots of ant cars below, amazing views of Western Port, the Dandenongs, Port Phillip and... rain clouds.
"MMmmm... we might get a bit wet" mumbled Cathy.
After the circuit we aimed our nose at the bay - or rather, 1000ft above the bay - and headed west, crossing the coast somewhere between Seaford and Carrum, with the dirty gunk of a flooding Patterson River just to our north.
"I'll take over for a tick" said Cathy, and I wasn't one to argue with the boss. Though she did kindly say "You're doing great - you haven't scared me."
{brief pause}
"Yet."
We banked over and dropped down to 700ft as we crossed the river heading north, while Cathy spoke to the tower at Moorabbin letting them know we'd entered into their space again. (Apparently Patterson River is some sort of contact/way point.)
"Ok, follow the coast at 700ft" she said.
"I'm in control" I replied.
And up the coast we flew, scaring the dogs/dog walkers on the beach and marvelling at having a seagulls eye view of the bay. We'd soon whisked over Gnotuk Avenue carpark and I was looking out for houses of people we knew (errr... while being conscious of the controls of course) and noticing we were headed for aforementioned big rain cloud.
"I'll take over" said the boss, and with that we banked inland and lined up Moorabbin Airport (which is actually in Mentone; if it was really in Moorabbin I'd have asked her to set me down in my backyard, being that not too long ago Hampton East was known as Moorabbin West).
Though when I say lined up, I mean "took a stab in the grey where it was", cos by now we were in the rain and you could see bugger all. And like a good little two seater coupe', it started to drip inside, just missing my leg. (An inch to the right and it would have left a wet patch on my pants somewhat difficult to explain...)I just looked out for the lights of all the other planes trying to land at the airport in the grey, cos I could hear the control tower talking to them out there in the gloom, somewhere... hunting us...
Then there it was, the little H for us to land on, only rather than land on the H, we swivelled in place about 3 ft off the ground, and inched forward until we were about 10m from the hangar.
"Beats pushing it all the way in in the rain" said the boss.
A quick debrief as we sat and idled the engine to let things cool down (fixed wing planes do this as they taxi...) and we were done.
Click clack, off with the belts, fumble with the door release, get my foot caught on the cyclic, and...
35 minutes after takeoff, Terra Firma once more.
What a goddamn amazing fathers day hoot.
(Only made better by an excited little boy yelling "Daddy" as I walked in the hangar.)
