Born To Fly Page 27

  There were lots of people hanging around to say g’day. I answered questions while I unpacked the plane, then met some local business owners from Leopold Air, a scenic and charter operator located on the airport itself. After the Cirrus was tied down I was given a lift into town. The trip was extraordinary: I was in awe of the red dust, something I had never seen before.

  They dropped me off at the local hire car centre. There were two hire car operators in Broome. One had declined my business due to my age but the other had agreed to set me loose in a real car. This was the best day ever. I slapped the P plates on the yellow Jeep, threw my bags in the back and set off down the road, still in my flight suit. I stopped by the Broome air traffic control tower to say a hello; the controller Bron and her family were great. They were thrilled just to have me drop by and say ‘hi’ while I was excited to look around a state-of-the-art control tower. It was confusing, and I think I’ll stick to flying. On the way to the unit I pulled up at the bottle shop to buy a drink before continuing on to the motel.

  I parked the car, threw my bags on the floor of my room and let my phone ring as I was inundated with messages of congratulations and emails. My personal mobile had picked up Australian reception for the first time in well over two months and proceeded to have a heart attack in the corner. I switched on the TV and was immediately hit with the Aussie accent and the familiar Channel 10 logo. I then plugged my phone charger into the wall, straight into the wall, without the need for the forty-seven adaptors I had carried with me around the world.

  With all of this going on, I suddenly realised something. I was home. I had just landed an aircraft back in Australia, an aircraft that had seen over thirty destinations, fifteen countries and over 22,000 nautical miles. I had been so fixated on so may things that I hadn’t understood the significance of landing back in Australia. I had my eyes set on the final landing in Wollongong and not on Broome, and although the flight was far from over I could see that so much of the risk was behind me. I sipped my drink, sat back and took in the moment, imagining it was a tiny glimpse of what the feeling would be like when the wheels touched down in Wollongong in less than a week’s time. It was exactly the right note on which to go to bed.

  When I woke up I lay in bed for a moment, confused. I had seen quite a number of motel rooms over the previous two months and didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but I was pretty certain I was in Australia. As clarity dawned I confirmed I was not dreaming, I had actually landed in Broome. There was no better way to start the day.

  I had two days there while I waited for the final oil change and inspection of the Cirrus. Although most of the work would be out of my hands, there were still a few things to be done before the engineers could get started. I headed off to the airport, and with the engine running I watched as the oil temperature rose, something that would make dropping away the old oil a little easier. I parked up against the maintenance hangar and shut down and while the engine covers were being removed and the old oil began to drain away, I emptied the cabin and started sorting through the clutter.

  I removed the HF aerial, unplugged and packed away the HF radio from inside the cabin, switched off the various valves on the ferry tank fuel lines and covered the tank with the same doona cover I had used throughout the USA. After a few hours I was finished and the Cirrus looked willing and ready to head towards the east coast. All that was left was for the mechanics to finish up the service.

  I wandered around for the rest of the day. I said hello again to the locals at the airport and went for a drive. I didn’t miss having to study up on the next international leg through foreign airspace, calling ahead and confirming the requirement of avgas: I really didn’t need to stress about anything. After an afternoon of emails, a blog, a catch-up on social media and the general tidying up of different jobs, I went to bed.

  Next morning I hopped out of bed nice and early. I had been offered a seat on a flight around the West Australian coastline and I didn’t take much convincing to accept. Here I was, spending my free day in an aeroplane. Funny that.

  I spent the morning peering out the window of the Cessna with nothing else to worry about except taking photos. The other passengers were great company, and we stopped at a small dirt strip near a swimming hole before making our way back to Broome along the coast. Having flown most of my hours on the east coast of Australia, I was caught off guard a few times along the west coast, as someone had put the ocean on the wrong side. When anyone is flying north the water should be on the right, not the left!

  After checking the now finished Cirrus I caught up with a couple of young pilots from around the area, packed my bags and found a pub that had chicken parmigiana on the menu. As I sat and ate I put together a flight plan for the next morning. I was off to Alice Springs and had been advised to stop by Halls Creek for avgas. It sat about halfway along my flight path, about five hours of total flying time. Not a long flight but one I was looking forward to.

  The next morning was relaxed. I woke up and checked out of the motel before heading to the airport and unpacked the Jeep, hiding the keys and leaving it in the car park. After having had to watch so much for the last few months, the freedom and ability to move around as I pleased were amazing. I pre-flighted the Spirit of the Sapphire Coast and hopped in, taxied for the runway in Broome and took to the sky over the top of Cable Beach, the iconic stretch of sand separating Broome from the sea. With a goodbye from the guys in the control tower I set course for Halls Creek.

  The barren landscape zipped past beneath me, endless plains of red dirt that stretched as far as the eye could see. I saw the odd road but nothing significant until Halls Creek appeared in the distance. I touched down in a hot, dry little airport and parked next to the fuel bowser. An attendant appeared from a small office and helped out with a fuel card for payment and I pumped fuel into the wings of the Cirrus. I wasn’t in a rush but there was nothing to do in Halls Creek, so it wasn’t long before I set off skyward once again.

  The view outside the window was unchanging, although perhaps the red dirt was becoming a little redder. It was almost like flying over Saudi Arabia yet again. I continued to record engine trends just as I had done over water, a good habit that would be hard to break, but few other jobs needed to be done. As I neared Alice Springs I peered out the right window towards Uluru. I had always wanted to fly past the iconic Australian landmark but the limited hours I had before the aircraft was due for more maintenance meant that tracking direct to Alice Springs was a much smarter idea.

  I contacted the Alice control tower and was directed to line up on an extended runway centreline. Among the red cliff faces and barren dirt I spotted a dark line that somewhat resembled a runway. It gradually grew into one as I slowed down and completed my checks. While I descended through the final stage of the landing, I looked across at the tarmac to a small line of light aircraft and on the end was a very familiar aircraft, a red and grey Falco F8L. This was a low-wing, two-seater wooden aircraft owned by Ian Newman, a pilot and friend from the Frogs Hollow Aero Club.

  I touched down and taxied clear before parking in front of the Alice Springs Aero Club. As I expected, two familiar faces appeared behind the Cirrus for a surprise visit; Ian and Neil Bourke had flown out to Alice Springs to say hello and buy me a drink. They had played a huge role in my flying as well as the planning of the Teen World flight.

  To see a few familiar faces, especially people I respected so much, was fantastic. I clambered out and said hello, my flying done for the day after crossing half of Australia in a little over five hours. I caught up with family friend Tony Norris, a very experienced pilot now based in Alice Springs, and after a quick chat we took the Cirrus and slotted it in a spare space in the corner of Tony’s hangar.

  That night we took the time to have dinner and a catch-up, and there were many stories to tell before bed. The following morning we made our way to the airport where we went about washing the Cirrus. This had normally been a job I did on my own and it
was fantastic to have a helping hand. The oil was wiped clean from the underside of the aircraft, the windows were cleaned and the interior was repacked, all ready for my arrival in Wollongong.

  Early the next day I flew off. While I was alone in the Cirrus, the familiar Falco flew alongside with Ian and Neil smiling away. That day’s final destination was Broken Hill. We had put together a flight plan that included a fuel stop in a place called William Creek, and then onto Broken Hill, just passing alongside Lake Eyre. It was great to fly along casually with company and we could chat on a discreet frequency while we listened out for other traffic, allowing any notes to be compared on what we could see out of the windows. For so long I had been on my own, seeing some of the most phenomenal sights in the world but only able to share them by means of a few photos or a description in the blog that evening. Being able to chat and compare with others what I was seeing in real time was just great.

  As we approached William Creek I called up on the radio, announcing our position and intentions. A young lady who was currently flying over Lake Eyre asked whether we would be needing any fuel. After we thanked her and said we could always use some, she told us to park at the airport and walk down the sealed road to the pub. The publican or the guy behind the bar would be able to organise some avgas for us. What? Fuel for the plane from the pub? Definitely a first.

  I touched down just after the boys in the Falco and parked up – being the only two aircraft on the field, we certainly had the pick of the parking spaces. We wandered to the pub, taking a photo along the way with the ‘William Creek, Population 2’ sign in the background. We ordered cold drinks and avgas and after adding our names to the writing-covered communal wall of the pub, we checked over the aircraft and set off again.

  We tracked towards Broken Hill, taking in the scenery including Lake Eyre before casually watching the now familiar red, barren landscape begin to incorporate a little more shrubbery. It was a relatively short flight of only a couple of hours, made even shorter by the continued chatter on the radio and before long we were inbound to Broken Hill. The airport was alive with activity as aircraft of all shapes and sizes refuelled before taking the flight to Birdsville for the annual and very famous Birdsville horse races. We zigged and zagged between traffic before touching down: as I taxied from the runway two fire trucks sprayed another arch of water as a welcome to their town, another very kind and rare gesture.

  Whilst I unpacked the Cirrus, Ian and Neil refuelled the Falco and taxied by soon after. With a wave goodbye they set off for the east coast, where they would wait for my arrival. Broken Hill was very interested in the flight and the Cirrus in particular, with many faces, including the local newspaper reporter, popping out to say hello before I made my way to the motel. I checked in to my accommodation for the last time on the trip, unpacked my bags and grabbed a bite to eat before sitting back and absorbing the activity on social media. I tried to take in what was going on, as well as what was about to happen in less than two days’ time. It was not easy, so I just went to sleep instead.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Back to destination A

  My one free day in Broken Hill had been a relaxed one. A late awakening was soon followed by a trip back out to the airport to refuel; one of the members of the Aero Club helped top up the tanks of the Cirrus before tying it back down for one last night. I sat down that afternoon, wrote a final blog and filmed a short video. I then stared blankly at the online tracker that stretched across the Teen World Flight webpage.

  There was a blue line that left Wollongong just south of Sydney and squiggled its way east. It passed over the Pacific Ocean separating Australia from the United States mainland, it linked the west and east coasts of the USA before tracking for Canada via Wisconsin, was camouflaged in the blue of the North Atlantic Ocean, briefly touching Greenland before reaching almost the top of the world. The line turned a corner and rocketed towards Europe and through to Jordan before finding Sri Lanka via Oman, met Malaysia and Indonesia and came to rest in a large country known as Australia. The last part of the line stretched almost completely across the largest continent in the world. Now there was just one tiny gap, one that a few hours’ flying would fill.

  I had taken off from destination A well over two months before. I had seen fifteen countries, been to thirty-four destinations on four continents and covered nearly 24,000 nautical miles. The next day was the moment that everything had led to, one last flight that would end at destination A.

  The following morning I woke very early and rose before the sun. This was not just another day, I knew – but I could not have guessed that over the next twenty-four hours I would learn several things I could never have expected.

  The Royal Australian Air Force had shown their support from the very beginning. After many meetings and emails, the RAAF Roulettes Aerobatic Team had been approved to fly a display overhead to welcome my homecoming just before my arrival in Wollongong. While flying through Asia I constantly received emails regarding my homecoming day, mostly about what would happen and when, how the morning would go ahead and what I had to do. The plan was for the Cirrus to arrive at Wollongong just before 11am. The Roulettes would finish their routine and let me know when I was okay to descend over the escarpment and approach the airfield. 60 Minutes, further media, microphones, aerodrome access, public fencing and so much more had been organised. All I had to do was be on time.

  I pre-flighted the Cirrus by torchlight, cleaned the windscreen and hopped in as the sun began to appear over the horizon. I looked at my flight time to Wollongong and worked out exactly when I should leave Broken Hill. Then I sat back and waited. It was maddening. Maybe I could just leave and fly slower? This sitting business was giving me way too much time to think. Not thinking too much and just doing seemed to be the best approach; something that had actually applied to a great deal of the flight. As the carefully defined departure time neared I started up and taxied for the end of the runway. One last push of the throttle later and I was airborne, racing the sun as it lit up the morning sky.

  As I set course for Wollongong I peered down at the avionics where both my groundspeed and tailwind or headwind component were displayed. These were the figures I had been staring at anxiously all through the fifteen-hour leg from Hawaii to California, yet this time they read very differently. It so happened that the strongest tailwinds of the entire trip were forty knots on the flight to Wollongong – the one leg that was meticulously timed so that my arrival took place at a very particular moment. I was now rocketing for home at well over 200 knots ground speed. Not ideal for the welcome, but I couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

  During the three hours I was in the air I watched the barren red landscape became a more familiar, greener environment, as towns with very recognisable names began to zip under the wings. I had a lot of time to think. I knew where I was going to be landing but not what to expect. It was almost like a roller-coaster ride where you knew you were going to go upside down but just had to bide your time to see how it would really feel.

  My overthinking and slowly melting brain were soon given a rest as another aircraft called me up for a chat over the radio. It was brilliant Australian aviation writer and Qantas pilot Owen Zupp. I had read a lot of Owen’s writing, we had spoken at various times and among other things had discussed what it was like to pilot a jet airliner. Now Owen was flying a Boeing 737 on a Pathfinders charity flight to the Qantas Founders’ Museum in Longreach. As he couldn’t make it to Wollongong, he wanted to check up on how the last leg was going and to wish me well. Regardless of what I was flying or where I had been, my love for aviation meant I was still extremely excited to be chatting to an airline pilot as he cruised past in his jet.

  I neared the escarpment that sat high above Wollongong and the surrounding areas, a solid cliff face overlooking the low-lying coastal city. Although previous experience had shown that it could be a hassle in average weather conditions, there was no doubt that it was a spectacula
r sight to anyone flying above. I was way too early thanks to the tailwinds yet I managed to take a peek across the escarpment to Wollongong airport. I could hear the Roulettes on the radio as they prepared to take to the sky, yet could see a thick blanket of cloud that seemed to only cover the airport. Everywhere else in the atmosphere that day was perfectly clear. I steered away from the airport although I knew no one could have possibly spotted me.

  My watch told me that I had a significant amount of time to spare before meeting with the Channel 9 news helicopter off the high side of the escarpment. I decided to make a quick stopover at a little aerodrome I had visited once or twice before, tracked for Wedderburn airfield only a few miles north of my position and joined the circuit area for a landing. I touched down and backtracked for the bowser. My safest bet was to top up the tanks and then take off in time to meet the chopper, and the problem was that there were very few people at the airfield. I was told they had all travelled to Wollongong where they were waiting for some kid in a toy plane. Luckily a few members of the aero club were on hand and very kindly donated some avgas to see me home. The other members were quite surprised to discover that I had dropped into their home field unexpectedly. That trip hadn’t been planned and less than a handful of people knew I actually stopped there. In the excitement of the flight ending, we never even got around to updating the stop on my website.

  I departed Wedderburn with full fuel and headed south towards a small lake, called up the news chopper and switched across to a frequency where we could chat without the stress of aviation radio calls. Once I had the helicopter in sight we met up and flew alongside each other; while the Cirrus was far from a rocket ship, the helicopter sure made it look fast. I had met the boys in the chopper for a little filming before my departure a few months before, and summing up the trip with a few more shots was exciting. I positioned the Cirrus carefully so the underbelly camera on the helicopter could film away, giving the odd casual wave when requested, and step by step we worked together to film a number of scenes. It was actually a lot of fun. Helicopters have always interested me, and to be flying around with one just having fun was so cool that I forgot all about what was supposed to happen next.