[crustychief]

...............
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 friggin' 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 friggin' 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 pinko 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 it's 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?

Ralph H. Bell
Mud Creek Plantation