My
father and myself used to go flying together most every weekend,
weather, charter, & flight training allowing. This Saturday we
were to go spec (speckled trout) fishing off Red Bank on Fish River
in Baldwin County, Alabama. Since we were going with my maternal
granddad in his boat and we lived across the state from him, it was
only logical we should have our own flying machine! As I've been
told, airplanes & boats share one thing in common, only
differently. One is a hole in the air you throw money into, the other
is a hole in the water that you do the same thing to! This combines
the pair!
I've
found a photo that is nearly identical to our plane, a Luscombe
Silveraire.
Just
about as much fun as one can have with clothes on!
We
got up before dawn to get to the airfield, preflight the plane, and
head out. Since Brookley AFB was still in service and doing lots of
flight testing with the F-104 ( see PILE DRIVER for more ), it
behooved the light plane pilot to stay the heck out of their
indicated airspace. The miserable zoomie jet jocks would still do a
double high-speed pass on the poor guys.
We
flew southeast to the entrance of Mobile Bay, then northeast to
Riggins field. It was Riggins field, Ernie Riggins, and I would call
Mrs. Riggins on the radio to let her know we were on our way and
could she please get Ernie to chase the cows off the strip?!
Actually, the call was to let her know a teen-age eating machine was
on his way. Her chicks had fledged and flown away, here comes one
flying in!
This
was just another routine flight, right? Since I was 12, dad had put
me in the left seat. I aready had enough flight time to be a vet and,
at last, I had grown enough to reach the pedals w/o too much
extension. I was 15 then (50 years ago- and dad had taken the left
seat. I really thought nothing of it, the Luscombe was dual
controlled anyway, and besides, I hadn't done anything to get booted
out for almost 3 years. Shoulda known...
We
crossed over the Bay by Fort Morgan, I made the radio call, and dad
maintained our altitude. Ordinarily we would begin our descent at
this point to be the right height to buzz granddad for pick-up at
Ernie's.
Have
you ever seen “Big Daddy” Ed Roth's “Rat Fink”? As we
approached the grandfolk's farm, dad assumed the expression, dropped
the last thousand feet, went up from 2200 RPM to 2600, and
tree-topped it!
We
came down around 50 feet above and 75 feet endwise from granny's
kitchen with the unmuffled engine at 120%. The Luscombe is a noisy
craft normally, at 120%, it's insane. Square law at least! Dad pulled
out hard right and climbing at 3 ½ G's, then we came around normally
and landed at Ernie's. Dad & Ernie started talking and I
bee-lined to Mrs. Riggins kitchen. Good stuff and lots! Second
breakfast, however my leg was empty.
A
while later granddad pulls in with a big grin on his face, told dad
his ass was grass and granny wanted to mow it! Granddad was late due
to him loading the car before
coming after us, seems dad would truly suffer at the hands of the
tiny Scotswoman! We'd also have to stop when we got downriver to the
marina for lunch rather than a good grannybucket, that's how mad she
was.
We
only top-pruned a pecan tree...
...just
a few twigs in the gear.
Stout
little airplane!
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