...from “I’ve Got To Write a Book!”
by Ira Wiggins
Flying Days (part 3)
Sept. 24 - 28, 1963: to Burlington, Vt, with the Kizers to see the fall colors from the air.
Breathtaking.
This trip I did not mind Alyce’s admonitions to stay at a low altitude. The scenery was fantastic - a view completely different from that seen from the cars on the highway below.
“Oh, look over here!”
“Yes, and just look at that hill over there.”
“It’s so beautiful I can’t stand it.”
*****
From Hillsdale, Mich. it was a pleasant flight to Meig’s lake shore airport in Chicago, - except for one occasion on which the ceilings gradually lowered so much that we found we could almost look in the windows of houses as we went by. Betty threatened to pick a pumpkin from the field if I flew any lower. We landed and waited until the next day to complete the trip. If one were ambitious one could walk to the Chicago “loop” from Meig’s; and with even less effort could visit the nearby Adler planetarium and Shedd aquarium. It was a short trip by street-car to the Field museum of Natural History and only a bit longer to the Museum of Science&Industry, both of which held many wonders both for our children and for us.
*****
Flying on a clear night can be exhilarating. The stars stand out like tiny diamonds. Towns can be seen by their lights further away than they can be identified in the daylight hours. The same holds for an airport with its rotating beacon. Other aircraft, with their distinctive navigation lights and rotating beacon, can also be more easily spotted.
When the weather is marginal, night flying can be less than relaxing. On one occasion, in a snow-storm at night, we were unable to determine our exact position - okay, say “lost” if you prefer. Fortunately, a small airport appeared directly in our path and we hastened to land. As I recall, it was Defiance, Ohio. It is most embarrassing for any pilot to have to enter an airport office and ask, “Would you mind telling me what airport this is?” A most humbling experience.
In any event, the snow-storm soon passed over and we were able to safely continue on our way.
*****
We were returning to Hillsdale airport one clear winter night with a weather report of “all clear”. Burdette Kizer, at that time a student pilot, was in the right-hand seat and I was flying. One by one the stars began to die and then to disappear. Finally they were all gone and we were in a barrel of ink. I was not at all proficient in flying “on instruments”. On an impulse I turned on the landing lights and could then see why the stars had disappeared. We were in a heavy snow-storm. I radioed the airport from which we had left, told them their forecast could stand some revising (“But there’s no snow reported in your area,” he protested) and turned my attention to the job of keeping the plane right side up and headed in the right direction and at the proper altitude.
It was very foolish of me not to reverse course and go back to where we had come from, a thing which I would surely do today, but I was inexperienced and frightened and had “get-home-itis”, - a combination that often leads to imprudent actions, with disaster lurking in the background.
By this time all lights on the ground had disappeared. I was having trouble heading in a constant direction. Finally I saw the faint glimmer of a star directly ahead so, in order to maintain a constant direction, I used it as an aiming point. The engine began gradually revving faster and I was aware of the wind whistling louder outside. With shock it dawned on me that the “star” I had been using as an aiming point was actually a light on the ground! As I rapidly corrected the situation I mentally vowed to take more training in instrument flight. Our destination of Hillsdale had no radio homing device (omni) but the town ten miles away did have one. I was too busy controlling the plane at this point to risk manipulating the radios.
“Burdette, tune in Litchfield omni on the radio.”
Hesitantly, “I don’t think I can, Ira.” He had not yet had experience with omnis.
Between us we managed to tune it properly and were heading for Litchfield when suddenly we glimpsed below us the faint, snow-dimmed glow of city lights. We were already at low altitude but descended further in our desperation to see where we were. The snow still enclosed us in a mantle of obscuring whiteness.
Burdette lived in Hillsdale and knew it intimately.
“There’s the neon sign of Leutheuser Buick!” he suddenly blurted, “Turn right!” From that point he knew the exact direction to the airport and unerringly led us to its welcome lights. We both knew that my actions had been foolish, inept, stupid, illegal and potentially lethal. On a more positive side I can truthfully say they were never repeated.
There is an old saying: “There are old pilots and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.” Another truism is: “Mechanical failure rarely kills - weather often does.”
*****
What does one do when flying on a beautiful clear night when all of a sudden all electrical components go off - radios, navigation lights, panel (dash-board) lights, the works?
Simple.
Turn the master switch back on.
I had inadvertently pushed it to the off position while manipulating the carburetor heat button. Fortunately turning the master switch off does not affect engine function.
*****
Jan. 27, 1965: a bitter cold winter cay to fly the Piper tripacer to Ann Arbor, Mich. to eagerly pick up Betty who was being released from the University hospital after having completed medical tests. As I approached, the unicom radio informed me that the runway was covered with glare ice and traction was “nil”. Betty was expecting me. The runway was long. I decided that by handling the airplane like a boat it could be done. Sliding toward one side of the runway could be corrected with a blast of the propeller to change the heading and then to change the course of the aircraft. If unable to stop by the end of the runway, the plane could be swung 180 degrees by the same propeller blast, the continued application of power bringing it to a stop and then to proceed back down the runway. The worst that could happen would be the demolishing of a runway light or too. It worked without incident, but the experience of sliding down the runway at an angle was indeed a new one.
*****
July 25 - Aug. 13, 1965: vacation trip to Marathon, Fla. En route we smelled the distinctive odor of kerosene in the cabin. Did you know that the fluid in the common magnetic compass is kerosene? The glass had cracked and it was seeping slowly out.
On this same trip we landed at Williston, Fla., a very large but essentially deserted former military airport. There we examined the still visible markings on the runway where Jimmy Doolittle and crew had practiced aircraft carrier take-offs with loaded bombers in preparation for the bombing of Tokyo. There was no need to practice carrier landings, for they would not have enough gas to return to the carrier, landing instead at friendly land bases.
*****
The last entry in my first log-book was Feb. 13, 1966. I had accumulated 505 hours as pilot-in-command, 19 hours of dual instruction, 27 hours of night flight and 7 hours of simulated instrument flight (hood time).
*****
The longest flying trip we ever took was in the 230 hour Cessna 182, -Feb. 16 to March 1, 1966. It started with a beautiful, star-filled night flight to St. Louis, Mo., where we stayed overnight with the family of Rev. Stuart, a minister friend formerly of Jonesville. Then on to Austin, Texas to visit a physician friend for two days, then to the famous Carlsbad Cavern in New Mexico. Landing at Fullerton airport in Calif. we were able to visit Disneyland before starting the return trip. Landing at Death Valley airport, it was an unusual experience to watch the altimeter unwind gradually to below the zero mark of sea-level as we approached the runway. We looked around for about an hour before deciding to move on to our next destination, Las Vegas, Nevada, with its tinsel, glitter and “human zoo”. We had never seen anything like its slot machines going 24 hours a day; people dressed in everything from tuxedos to overalls or pajamas; cheap food; occasional free booze; huge sums of money being frantically poured into the expressionless maws of the slot machines. We stayed for 4 days and left wondering at it all.
Going over the rocky mountains was a new experience. Choosing the lowest, conveniently available route we still had to ascend to 11,500 feet altitude for 20 minutes in order to clear the ridges. Oxygen is advised over 10,000 feet but we knew that for that short period of time we would feel no ill effects and we detected none. A friend of ours tells of the time he was flying at 15,000 feet using an oxygen mask but allowing his wife to use the map and to navigate without the use of oxygen. After a bit she looked up, smiled, said, “Oh, what the hell! Who cares?” and threw the map into the back seat. Oxygen lack, in most individuals, causes a reaction identical to that which occurs when that same person has had a bit too much to drink. He gets tipsy. If, when under the influence, he gets happy, then oxygen lack makes him happy; if belligerent, then oxygen lack makes him belligerent.
En route back to the airport at Hillsdale, Mich. we had a scheduled landing to refuel at Quincy, Ill. Ceilings were low, visibility was poor and aircraft were landing only IFR or by “special VFR” permission from the control tower. As we approached they instructed us to circle below the low clouds outside of the control zone until they contacted me with further instructions. I circled one direction until nausea developed then changed directions. I often wonder what the people on the ground thought was going on. I again contacted the tower but was told that they couldn’t let me land until the plane “somewhere up there on instruments” was on the ground. When permission was given some 30 minutes later we lost no time in landing.
The last leg of the trip was accompanied by a spirit-lifting tail-end that boosted our ground speed to 198 m.p.h. We had been gone for two weeks and two days and had seen and done more things than we had ever imagined we could in such a short period of time. Betty was almost convinced that flying was a good way to go.
*****
Aug. 18, 1966: 1 hour 15 minutes flying time noted in the log book. Hillsdale, Mich. to Detroit Metro airport and return. Under the remarks column was “Took Ginger to be flown air-freight to Panama.” Ginger was our beloved mongrel dog and we had made the decision to leave the demanding practice and long winters of Jonesville, Mich. to work for the Panama Canal Company in a warm climate and with a 40-hour work week.
*****
On the next line the entry was Oct. 9, 1966 - France Field, Canal Zone - 15 minutes flight time in a 100 h.p. cessna 150. Remarks: “checked out by Bob Williford.” I had joined the Canal Zone Flying Club which possessed a single two-place aircraft, 20 members and a $9,000.00 debt. By 1970 the same club had an additional four-place aircraft, 50 members and the same $9,000.00 debt. It was an active, enthusiastic, growing concern. By 1975 a third aircraft had been added with no increase in debt and the membership rose to 100 members. Something then occurred which I had not foreseen. The organization became unwieldy and impersonal and began to suffer from unrest, personality conflicts, discontent and a let-George-do-it attitude. Maintenance became more of a problem, carelessness developed and accidents followed. Our experience with insurance was disheartening. The expected amount was never paid in full and payment was so slow in coming that an aircraft might be out of service and producing no revenue for four to six months, as insistent letters were repeatedly sent off to the company.
One of the accidents happened to a tall, likeable instructor, Sgt. Jim Tumlin. He had promised to take his friend, Bill, for a ride but the battery in the Cessna 172 was too weak to start the engine. Bill’s Knowledge of aircraft extended only to the fact that he had jumped from them many times as a paratrooper. Jim did not chock the wheels. He put Bill in the co-pilot’s seat and instructed him how to manipulate the brakes, master switch, magneto switch and throttle while he, Jim, turned the propeller to start the engine. Among other things he told Bill that if the engine was going too fast he could reduce the speed by pulling out (or back) on the throttle. The engine started. It was going too fast. Bill pushed in on the throttle. It went faster. He pushed it all the way in, thought “the engine is running away!” and could no longer keep the plane from moving toward the cement hangars by frantic pressure on the brakes. He lunged and did what he was more qualified for: “bailed out” the door. As Jim ducked aside, the pilotless plane sped for the near-by hangars, went dead center between them and stopped with a crunch as each wing tip impacted on a cement wall.
Other accidents occurred. One student stalled on a too-steep take-off; the plane was demolished and the student injured. One member landed at a remote, unfamiliar, crude air-strip, struck soft ground at the approach end and turned over - no injuries. Another student crashed on landing while her pilot husband on the ground (not an instructor) was giving her instructions by radio as to how she should maneuver for the landing - no serious injuries.
*****
Flying is an excellent way to get around in the country of Panama due to its lack of roads but profusion of primitive air-strips. During our fifteen and a half year stay there we spent many exciting, happy hours flying to various parts of the country, exploring, snorkeling, hunting artifacts and antique bottles, making friends and helping with medical missionary work. We also flew to Colombia, Ecuador, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Nicaragua and even to Guataeala. Many of the airstrips in Panama are crude and would be quite unacceptable by U.S. standards. The sand and coral strip at Ailigandi paralleled the beach and was less wide than the span of the aircraft’s wings. At times small drainage ditches were dug up to the edge of the run-way, presenting a definite hazard for any plane which might stray from the straight and narrow. Rarely one did. The short grass strip at Nombre de Dios started at the shoreline and pointed inland directly at a 25 foot hill not over 40 feet from the far end. This made it a “one-way runway”, of which there were several in Panama. Regardless of wind direction, take-offs and landings were usually both made toward the ocean. If an approach were made toward the mainland and an “abort” after touch-down became necessary, clearing the hill could become a problem. On occasion it was necessary to buzz the airstrip to clear it of livestock prior to landing. In later years when a road was added to the area the airstrip was incorporated as part of the road but was still used by aircraft - with caution.
*****
Porvenir is an island in the San Blas archipelago off the northern coast of Panama. Its 1300 foot runway extended the length of the island from shore to shore. A favorite expression was: “It’s better to land 300 feet too far down the runway than to land three feet too short.” Despite this knowledge, it was with chagrin that one day, on landing there, I broke the rule and struck one of the wheels on a large log which had washed up on the end of the runway, rupturing the hydraulic line to the brake on that side. Fortunately the cross wind was not severe and we were able to maneuver safely.
*****
