That’s the spirit, Andy!
Carol and I desperately want all of us to remain safe, as you probably do, too. Last week someone emailed me to say that a good friend and associate of ours, whom we haven’t heard from since last spring, is on his deathbed. Carol nor Dooney could get any impressions of distress from this fellow but I called his sister several times, finally getting a call back and she said, ‘No–he’s just fine; just wants to stay under the radar for now!’ so we were very happy that it was just a silly rumor. We were ready to fly there and try to persuade him to come back with us so that we could work on healing him, along with Dr Stevo’s highly skilled efforts.
When one or another prodigious gifter foolishly refuses to acknowledge being attacked by the sewer rat agencies in reprisal for their dark masters’ losing billions of dollars worth of weaponry to cleverly tossed orgonite I’m less inclined to feel sympathetic, which may seem like a strange thing to say, but we’ve found it prudent not to try to bust down the door of denial when well-meaning folks slam it in our faces.
Doing a lot of effective gifting without taking steps to protect oneself is sort of like taking a walk in Antarctica without wearing any pants. What should you expect to happen in either case? Do you really want to be a martyr for this? I sure don’t want to be one for this and I hope to God you won’t casually toss your own life away by letting these baby-killing, quasi-governmental gangsters have their way with you.
Today I finally flew around in the sky for the first time and I was starkly terrified [Image Can Not Be Found]; . Sure, November Six was my first solo flight but I didn’t go very high, then or the next day.
Since my previous jumps down the runway, a month or so ago, I took four lessons in my neighbor, Roger’s, lovely 1946 Piper Vagabond, which flies sort of like my little plane does, then earned his blessing to go flying on my own.
Tail draggers are harder to take off and land than planes with nose wheels are, as I probably mentioned before, and flying with a joystick isn’t much like flying with a yoke, which is sort of like a steering wheel, except that it doesn’t steer on the ground–rudder pedals and brakes do that.
Added to that, little planes like mine fly a lot slower and take off at very low speeds–about 25 mph in my case–so the control responses are a little slower than in a faster plane. This is going to take some getting used to, after about 25 hours of instruction in bigger, faster planes.
It seemed to take forever to fly the pattern around our airfield but after I’m not terrified of being alone in the sky any more it will probably seem a little quicker. Mixed in with my terror, of course, was a very fun adrenaline rush and a sense of supreme accomplishment , as though I’d broken through a very intimidating barrier.
Roger has agreed to give me some coaching from the ground via radio and I’ve purchased a good portable radio and headset… In order not to interfere with traffic channels we’re going to use 234.5mH–cute [Image Can Not Be Found]
I’d have done this sooner but there’s been a lot of snow in the past month. The field has been plowed twice, in fact, and today there was snow and ice covering the field–sun was shining and it was in the mid 20s, Fahrenheit. Barometer was high, so there was very little wind. The wind was from the south and I’d promised Roger that I would only do this if there was no wind or if there was a south breeze. He advised this because south of the field are plenty of emergency landing spots but north of the field is all pine forest. One takes off into the wind, of course.
I followed some other good Roger advice and put an electric blanket over the engine cowling for a couple of hours and I was extremely pleased that the motor started on the first pull, this time. After pushing the plane out of the hangar and unfolding the wings I did my pre-flight check, started the motor and taxied to the north end of the airstrip.
Pushing the throttle to top RPM, which is 5500 with my little German 2-cycle motor, I first took off, without flaps extended, and flew the length of the field at around 50 feet altitude, landed and taxied back to the north end. It was kind of fun doing that on the icy patches and in the snow I pulled the joystick back to help the tail wheel dig in for better steering.
My little Skyraider takes off in about a hundred feet of runway and by the time I reached the south end of the field I was already around 400 feet up. The field is 3,000 feet long. I’ve gotten used to faster planes, though, and I turned left while continuing to climb, then leveled off at 5 or 6 hundred feet. I flew over Roger’s house but didn’t see him. Nor did any other neighbors come out and gesticulate at me, like some did the second first time I flew down the runway a month or so ago, on a day that was too windy for anyone to fly, I found out
One reason I wanted Roger’s blessing is because I don’t want anyone around here to feel like my foolishness would bring the feds down on everyone else. Like any other sewer rat agency, once the FAA gets their hooks in anyone they won’t let go and they have so many rules that everyone who steps into an airplane is likely to be breaking any number of alleged laws. It‘s an admirable scam, if one is inclined to admire confidence games. I’m tickled that just about every pilot detests and resents this unlawful federal agency. Things would run a lot more smoothly if government removed it’s bulbous, rosaceous nose from private and commercial aviation, of course. There are better ways to create and maintain standards, after all. I think secession will fix the FAA’s wagon in a heartbeat. On a brighter note: because the feds have destroyed the air travel industry with their terrorism there just aren’t as many payrolled FAA thugs throwing their weight around at airports.
I lowered the nose and slip-turned back toward the runway right at the north end so that I would land in the middle somewhere. I was just too nervous to fly over that forest, even though that would have been the smarter move. I could have taken more time to line up my approach, in that case. A skilled pilot, which is what I hope to be by spring, works out all the kinks on the final approach, some distance from the end of the runway and high enough not to need to add power before landing. My brain knew all that buy my terrified body was a step or two behind, of course.
I dropped out of the sky, right over the field, like an avenging angel, instead of sedately approaching the end of the runway from above the forest.
Flaps were slightly extended and I kept the throttle open a bit when I ungraciously flared out, ten feet or so above the ground. I landed with a little bounce and when I had slowed enough to turn around a gentle gust caught me while I was on a big patch of ice and pushed the plane gently into a snow bank, halfway through my turn.
I was sitting in the middle of the runway’s length, where the trees are closest on either side. There was a crosswind, and the wind does very odd things in that spot. While taking off, I was careful to get up well before I reached that area because in my previous folly I was blown around like a leaf, there, which is what sort of terrified several onlookers in the first place.
I left the engine idling, climbed out of the cockpit and lifted the tail around enough to point it north. Since I was on ice, the plane started moving away on its own, so I just hung onto the tail until we got past the ice and into the snow, where the tail wheel acted like a brake.
I’d had enough terror for a Friday afternoon, so I put the plane back to bed, then.
I hope to do it again tomorrow if conditions are favorable. It’s supposed to snow a lot but the barometer is still slowly climbing (it’s after midnight and I’m too jacked up to sleep) so maybe I’ll have a chance in the morning, at least.
I stayed comfortably warm in the cockpit and the mittens worked well, even though my left hand was in the doorway, where the throttle is. When you fly, except when cruising, one hand stays on the throttle.
I really prefer the joystick to the steering harness, by the way. I used my shoulder belts for the first time, after finally realizing that these are in the plane in case of a crash.
A lot of people have emailed to ask for a progress report, so here it is. Flying is kind of difficult to learn and when you’re in the air there are seemingly countless important things to keep track of, even with an ultralight. It takes lots and lots and lots of hours for all this to become second nature but flying is addictive for some, including me.
The funny thing is that I doubt I’d attempt this if I didn’t feel a need to get to the otherwise inaccessible gifting targets, even though I’ve literally dreamt of flight since I was a toddler, when my father’s fighter jet was shot down over North Korea.
I was sort of joking about the Unorganized Etheric Air Force (UEAF, as opposed to the smarmy, ruinous
USAF) but I was also serious and today, after conquering all that fear, I asked Carol to help me design a suitable logo. I’m hoping that in another five years there will be lots of aircraft, perhaps even a cargo plane or two, in this air force. Georg and I have a standing arrangement to gift the Sahara from east and west, each with our own international teams, including psychics and political expediters <!-- s --><img src=“http://dev2.ethericwarriors.co……" alt=”" title=“Cool” /><!-- s -->
The trickiest part of a plan like that is to keep the moles out, of course.
Carol was hoping that I’d wait to solo until the plane’s parachute shows up in January but I knew that the longer I delayed this, the more fear I’d have to contend with. Maybe the federal $#!+birds (psi corpse) were jacking up my irrational emotional state today, before the flight. I felt like I was going into battle but I also recognized that the fear wasn’t grounded, since I’d done enough preparation, after all.