As a lad growing up during the war years I had a fascination with aircraft and a dream of one day flying. This interest was expressed by the building and flying of model aeroplanes - the balsa wood and tissue variety - and by becoming an avid fan of W. E. Johns novels for boys about the British flying ace, Biggles, who pretty much single-handed saved the UK from defeat by the Luftwaffe. My dreams of flying remained just that until some years later.
By 1958 I found myself working in the maritime industry as a ship’s engineer. The work regime at that time was not a good example of the ideal work-life balance as understood today. We spent months at sea sometimes as many as six followed by periods of leave.
It was on one of these long leave episodes that I decided that this was the time. I joined the RVAC (Royal Victorian Aero Club), enrolling in a correspondence course run by the School of Civil Aviation covering the theory of light and other technical stuff like the principles of navigation and meteorology.
The primary trainer at that time was the DH82 better known as the Tiger Moth. This was a tail dragging bi-plane cobbled together out of wood, wire and canvas—about as basic a flying machine as can be imagined. It had a good record as a training aircraft during WW2; was built in large numbers by the Western allies and is still flown by enthusiasts today.
And so the practical business of learning to fly began – starting the engine by swinging the propellor, taxiing, take off and landing. A big thrill was my first solo flight and advanced procedures such as stall and spin recovery.
Another advanced task was a cross-country navigation exercise which in theory was a out and back flight from Moorabbin to West Sale. Planning for such a task flown under VER’s (Visual Flight Rules) entailed selecting a flight path; plotting a chart and noting way points en route, including emergency out-landing airfields in case or problems in flight. That was, and I believe still is, the basis of recreational flight planning.
What happened in reality was we found and followed the Gippsland rail-line which passed conveniently close to the West Sale airfield, then reversed the process back to Moorabin. Mission accomplished. Faking it? No. Fudging it? Maybe!
Later in life I realized there is an allegorical connection between cross-country flight planning and living one’s life. We plot our life’s course; note the way points like sporting or academic achievements, personal relationships, marriage and kids; trying all the while to avoid blind gullies and stormy weather – hopefully to one day reach our final destination, wherever and whatever that may be.
By 1958 I found myself working in the maritime industry as a ship’s engineer. The work regime at that time was not a good example of the ideal work-life balance as understood today. We spent months at sea sometimes as many as six followed by periods of leave.
It was on one of these long leave episodes that I decided that this was the time. I joined the RVAC (Royal Victorian Aero Club), enrolling in a correspondence course run by the School of Civil Aviation covering the theory of light and other technical stuff like the principles of navigation and meteorology.
The primary trainer at that time was the DH82 better known as the Tiger Moth. This was a tail dragging bi-plane cobbled together out of wood, wire and canvas—about as basic a flying machine as can be imagined. It had a good record as a training aircraft during WW2; was built in large numbers by the Western allies and is still flown by enthusiasts today.
And so the practical business of learning to fly began – starting the engine by swinging the propellor, taxiing, take off and landing. A big thrill was my first solo flight and advanced procedures such as stall and spin recovery.
Another advanced task was a cross-country navigation exercise which in theory was a out and back flight from Moorabbin to West Sale. Planning for such a task flown under VER’s (Visual Flight Rules) entailed selecting a flight path; plotting a chart and noting way points en route, including emergency out-landing airfields in case or problems in flight. That was, and I believe still is, the basis of recreational flight planning.
What happened in reality was we found and followed the Gippsland rail-line which passed conveniently close to the West Sale airfield, then reversed the process back to Moorabin. Mission accomplished. Faking it? No. Fudging it? Maybe!
Later in life I realized there is an allegorical connection between cross-country flight planning and living one’s life. We plot our life’s course; note the way points like sporting or academic achievements, personal relationships, marriage and kids; trying all the while to avoid blind gullies and stormy weather – hopefully to one day reach our final destination, wherever and whatever that may be.
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