Dave had another exciting airshow coming up. To prepare for it he had the big idea to teach me how to be his prop-spinner.
"Free Spirit," the Bücher Jungmann, N121U, is a vintage tail-dragger aircraft that came to season before the age of automatic ignitions. My clever flight instructor thought I would be an attractive addition to his act by having me spin his prop to start the engine. What! Are you kidding me?! Now that was going a bit too far for this “gentle kind of lady.” However, as I mentioned earlier, Dave in his charming way was very persuasive.
Here’s how spinning the prop works: The pilot—that would be Dave—sat in the cockpit with his feet on the brakes. Little woodblock chocks are secured in front of the main gear to keep the plane from moving forward. The prop-spinner—that would be me—stands in front of the airplane. She places the tips of gloved fingers on the left side of the prop, then gives a rapid whipping pull downward.
For my safety, I added an extra movement. After the quick downward pull on the prop, I would spin and turn away from the airplane, ready to run if something went wrong! I hoped that the engine would fire on the first pull-through. If not, it was back to the spinner. It was also critical to clear my hands of the prop, because if it whipped back suddenly, it would break my fingers or worse, cut them off! Why did I let him talk me into things like that!? I must have been as crazy as the aerobat sitting in the plane holding the brakes.
"Free Spirit," the Bücher Jungmann, N121U, is a vintage tail-dragger aircraft that came to season before the age of automatic ignitions. My clever flight instructor thought I would be an attractive addition to his act by having me spin his prop to start the engine. What! Are you kidding me?! Now that was going a bit too far for this “gentle kind of lady.” However, as I mentioned earlier, Dave in his charming way was very persuasive.
Here’s how spinning the prop works: The pilot—that would be Dave—sat in the cockpit with his feet on the brakes. Little woodblock chocks are secured in front of the main gear to keep the plane from moving forward. The prop-spinner—that would be me—stands in front of the airplane. She places the tips of gloved fingers on the left side of the prop, then gives a rapid whipping pull downward.
For my safety, I added an extra movement. After the quick downward pull on the prop, I would spin and turn away from the airplane, ready to run if something went wrong! I hoped that the engine would fire on the first pull-through. If not, it was back to the spinner. It was also critical to clear my hands of the prop, because if it whipped back suddenly, it would break my fingers or worse, cut them off! Why did I let him talk me into things like that!? I must have been as crazy as the aerobat sitting in the plane holding the brakes.
Whoof! Here We Go!
My first long distance journey was in the front tandem seat of the Bücher. Dave and I flew from Washington State to Canada for the 1976 Toronto International Airshow.
As we flew across the wide-open spaces of America, Dave taught me how to estimate our wind direction and ground speed by watching the clouds pass over acres of farmlands, which looked like woven ribbons. Also, we watched the white tendrils of smoke drift lazily away from chimneys and smokestacks. Of course, heading east, we encountered mostly headwinds, but we had plenty of time to just cruise and enjoy the marvelous landscape.
It was a chilling experience to fly such a distance in an open cockpit biplane, especially with the relative wind adding to the wind-chill factor. Heat from the engine and my brown leather helmet, which fit like an onionskin, helped keep me warm, but parts of me stayed numb throughout the trip, either from the cold or from long hours of sitting. Occasionally, long periods of silence were broken by note passing when we wanted to share the spectacular beauty of America.
At each stop along our way to Toronto, we filed a new flight plan. If we would be landing at a tower-controlled airport, the FSS (Flight Service Station) would notify the airport en route of our ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival). Then, as we approached the landing pattern, the control tower would signal us with a hand-held beacon to confirm our clearance to land.
In 1976, when an aircraft didn’t have a radio, that’s the way it had to be done. If you tried that today, there would likely be a couple of vulturous hawks pulling up alongside, or a brief flash of light before we entered the Promised Land.
We flew over many national monuments on the way to Toronto. We came so close to Mount Rushmore in the Blacks Hills of South Dakota that I could have planted a kiss right on old Teddy Roosevelt's cheek!
Of course, we had to make a pit stop at Oshkosh, also known as the “Claw,” on Lake Winnebago, Wisconsin. Hosting a world-famous air event every year, Oshkosh tends to be a magnet pulling the aerobat pilgrims into its air space. It's like putting a notch in the belt to make an Oshkosh entry into your logbook. After enjoying the airshow and many of the static displays, we climbed back into "Free Spirit," the Bücher, and made a dramatic take-off toward Canada.
The air was calm as we flew across Lake Michigan. We made a southern pass below Detroit and then headed up along the coast of Lake Erie. We had the advantage of being able to vary our telescopic view—high and exceedingly panoramic, or low-level for an intimate view of bays and bird sanctuaries. Like a red-tailed hawk in search of early morning prey, we flew the twisting and meandering banks of the rivers that nourished the Great Lakes.
When we arrived in Toronto's airspace, we flew an aerial tour. Toronto was heralded as a progressive and architecturally distinctive cosmopolitan city. Dave made a big sweeping loop around the CN Tower before lunging into the mist-filled canyon of raging Niagara Falls.
Flying into Niagara Falls canyon was one of the scariest and most exhilarating experiences you can imagine. I held on to the thin crossbars of my aerial cage and screamed in wild excitement as we took a nosedive into the heart of the canyon. What a rush! There were powerful downdrafts that sparred for control of the Bücher and gave new meaning to the power of gravity.
As we made our dive I could see the tiny Maid of the Mist tour boat growing in size before my eyes. Then, just before we started pulling up, I saw several tourists in yellow raincoats rush to the port side of the boat for a better view of the lunatics in the black biplane. Heavy mist mingled with my own sweaty face as I held on to the frame of the plane with white knuckles. I was yelling inside of me, What am I doing here! This has got to be insane! Dave must have been part maniac! He did ride the edge of life, and he sported a solid steel grin as he did.
My first long distance journey was in the front tandem seat of the Bücher. Dave and I flew from Washington State to Canada for the 1976 Toronto International Airshow.
As we flew across the wide-open spaces of America, Dave taught me how to estimate our wind direction and ground speed by watching the clouds pass over acres of farmlands, which looked like woven ribbons. Also, we watched the white tendrils of smoke drift lazily away from chimneys and smokestacks. Of course, heading east, we encountered mostly headwinds, but we had plenty of time to just cruise and enjoy the marvelous landscape.
It was a chilling experience to fly such a distance in an open cockpit biplane, especially with the relative wind adding to the wind-chill factor. Heat from the engine and my brown leather helmet, which fit like an onionskin, helped keep me warm, but parts of me stayed numb throughout the trip, either from the cold or from long hours of sitting. Occasionally, long periods of silence were broken by note passing when we wanted to share the spectacular beauty of America.
At each stop along our way to Toronto, we filed a new flight plan. If we would be landing at a tower-controlled airport, the FSS (Flight Service Station) would notify the airport en route of our ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival). Then, as we approached the landing pattern, the control tower would signal us with a hand-held beacon to confirm our clearance to land.
In 1976, when an aircraft didn’t have a radio, that’s the way it had to be done. If you tried that today, there would likely be a couple of vulturous hawks pulling up alongside, or a brief flash of light before we entered the Promised Land.
We flew over many national monuments on the way to Toronto. We came so close to Mount Rushmore in the Blacks Hills of South Dakota that I could have planted a kiss right on old Teddy Roosevelt's cheek!
Of course, we had to make a pit stop at Oshkosh, also known as the “Claw,” on Lake Winnebago, Wisconsin. Hosting a world-famous air event every year, Oshkosh tends to be a magnet pulling the aerobat pilgrims into its air space. It's like putting a notch in the belt to make an Oshkosh entry into your logbook. After enjoying the airshow and many of the static displays, we climbed back into "Free Spirit," the Bücher, and made a dramatic take-off toward Canada.
The air was calm as we flew across Lake Michigan. We made a southern pass below Detroit and then headed up along the coast of Lake Erie. We had the advantage of being able to vary our telescopic view—high and exceedingly panoramic, or low-level for an intimate view of bays and bird sanctuaries. Like a red-tailed hawk in search of early morning prey, we flew the twisting and meandering banks of the rivers that nourished the Great Lakes.
When we arrived in Toronto's airspace, we flew an aerial tour. Toronto was heralded as a progressive and architecturally distinctive cosmopolitan city. Dave made a big sweeping loop around the CN Tower before lunging into the mist-filled canyon of raging Niagara Falls.
Flying into Niagara Falls canyon was one of the scariest and most exhilarating experiences you can imagine. I held on to the thin crossbars of my aerial cage and screamed in wild excitement as we took a nosedive into the heart of the canyon. What a rush! There were powerful downdrafts that sparred for control of the Bücher and gave new meaning to the power of gravity.
As we made our dive I could see the tiny Maid of the Mist tour boat growing in size before my eyes. Then, just before we started pulling up, I saw several tourists in yellow raincoats rush to the port side of the boat for a better view of the lunatics in the black biplane. Heavy mist mingled with my own sweaty face as I held on to the frame of the plane with white knuckles. I was yelling inside of me, What am I doing here! This has got to be insane! Dave must have been part maniac! He did ride the edge of life, and he sported a solid steel grin as he did.
Surviving our descent into the canyon, we took a deep breath and headed for the landing pattern at Toronto International Airport. I was weak-kneed and green around my edges as I climbed out of the plane. Shakily, I planted my feet firmly on the solid tarmac. Dave’s response was just the opposite. He was invigorated and primed for the high flight of his life.
The Toronto Airshow was a spectacular event. Paralleling our own U.S. Navy Blue Angels were the Canadian Snowbirds, opening with their precision fleur de lei over Toronto Harbour at Lake Ontario.
After the welcoming formalities and other aerobatic events, Dave’s prop-starter—that would be me—put on her gloves and with one firm downward pull started the Bücher’s engine roaring.
Dave revved up his showmanship as he and the Bücher joined forces. He started with a low-level knife-edge maneuver right after takeoff and then climbed up the great blue ladder and danced across the sky. Together, they performed a Nijinsky ballet around the staging area. Even their colored elusive smoke became veiled tendrils as they pirouetted in turn after turn. With his signature finale, the Lomchevak, his fans stood transfixed, breathlessly waiting for him to pull the reins of his wild stallion back under control.
When his act was finished, he did a low, straight, and level pass in front of the crowd, waving his arm, his smile beaming. Suddenly, he went into a knife-edge maneuver to show off the golden starburst topside of the Bücher, and then making a quarter turn, he pulled up into a vertical climb, pushed over the top, and exited the staging area. What a showman!
While I waited for him to join me, I watched as the tempo of the show continued to accelerate with one high performance team after another.
Dave arrived and stole a little bit of the thunder as he clasped the hands of the admiring crowd. Then we all stood silently awaiting the big star of the show to make its appearance.
All my senses came alive when, stealthily, the renowned Blackbird - SR71 issued up from what appeared to be the dark and burning depths of the earth. The ground rumbled and groaned as the black predator tore away from the bonds of gravity, piercing the sky like a great and terrible lance of death. It’s no mere mortal that flies the Blackbird. Talk about a rush of adrenaline. Amazing! That extraordinary flight of the radar evasive, delta wing Blackbird was the grand finale to a remarkable time in Canada.
The Toronto Airshow was a spectacular event. Paralleling our own U.S. Navy Blue Angels were the Canadian Snowbirds, opening with their precision fleur de lei over Toronto Harbour at Lake Ontario.
After the welcoming formalities and other aerobatic events, Dave’s prop-starter—that would be me—put on her gloves and with one firm downward pull started the Bücher’s engine roaring.
Dave revved up his showmanship as he and the Bücher joined forces. He started with a low-level knife-edge maneuver right after takeoff and then climbed up the great blue ladder and danced across the sky. Together, they performed a Nijinsky ballet around the staging area. Even their colored elusive smoke became veiled tendrils as they pirouetted in turn after turn. With his signature finale, the Lomchevak, his fans stood transfixed, breathlessly waiting for him to pull the reins of his wild stallion back under control.
When his act was finished, he did a low, straight, and level pass in front of the crowd, waving his arm, his smile beaming. Suddenly, he went into a knife-edge maneuver to show off the golden starburst topside of the Bücher, and then making a quarter turn, he pulled up into a vertical climb, pushed over the top, and exited the staging area. What a showman!
While I waited for him to join me, I watched as the tempo of the show continued to accelerate with one high performance team after another.
Dave arrived and stole a little bit of the thunder as he clasped the hands of the admiring crowd. Then we all stood silently awaiting the big star of the show to make its appearance.
All my senses came alive when, stealthily, the renowned Blackbird - SR71 issued up from what appeared to be the dark and burning depths of the earth. The ground rumbled and groaned as the black predator tore away from the bonds of gravity, piercing the sky like a great and terrible lance of death. It’s no mere mortal that flies the Blackbird. Talk about a rush of adrenaline. Amazing! That extraordinary flight of the radar evasive, delta wing Blackbird was the grand finale to a remarkable time in Canada.
America! America! God Shed His Grace on Thee!
Satisfied and spent, we pointed the spinner of the Bücher westward and headed home, flying over Lakes Huron and Superior, then across the state of Minnesota.
One early dawn found us sharing the calm morning sky with several colorful hot air balloons. Like slow rising bubbles in a lava lamp, they gave off little bursts of dragon fire as they slowly ascended in the calm morning sky. After the high-pitched tension in Toronto, the delicate grace of the hot air balloons provided us with a surreal and peaceful calm. I was happy to be homeward bound.
I missed my little boy and was eager to tell him about all the thrilling times winging across America. Being a little two-year-old, he would certainly understand everything, especially the excitement on his mama's face.
Satisfied and spent, we pointed the spinner of the Bücher westward and headed home, flying over Lakes Huron and Superior, then across the state of Minnesota.
One early dawn found us sharing the calm morning sky with several colorful hot air balloons. Like slow rising bubbles in a lava lamp, they gave off little bursts of dragon fire as they slowly ascended in the calm morning sky. After the high-pitched tension in Toronto, the delicate grace of the hot air balloons provided us with a surreal and peaceful calm. I was happy to be homeward bound.
I missed my little boy and was eager to tell him about all the thrilling times winging across America. Being a little two-year-old, he would certainly understand everything, especially the excitement on his mama's face.