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Aircoupe pilot rides an RV

rfinch

Well Known Member
[From the Ercoupe email list]

Sometimes not knowing when to say ?no? is a good thing. My ex-fighter pilot neighbor, Steve, got bored again last week.... Heaven help us when that happens.... (Last time he got bored we ended up flying 20+ hours to Wyoming and back.) Steve called me up last week and said, "I can get us reservations to camp out on a platform in the middle of a swamp in North Carolina Sunday night. You in?"

Not being all that intelligent, I said "Sure, why not?"

So Sunday morning at 9:00 AM we launched in his RV-6A for points east. 185 MPH, 9500 feet, an hour and 45 minutes later and we land at Martin County Airport near Williamston, NC. Banks, the Kayak company guy picks us up at the airport in an old crew cab pick-up and takes us to the boat ramp where we stuff our gear into dry bags and stuff the dry bags into these little skinny plastic kayaks. Then I get in one kayak and Steve gets in the other. Somewhere right along in here it strikes me that I ain't never been in no kayak before. Our kayak rental man asks "Do you want to just paddle it around a bit and see if you like it ok before you head out?" I took a glance at Steve, who looked like he was starting to get bored again, and told the kayak man that I'd probably just better figure out if I like it or not on the way up the river. We then commenced to paddling. For four hours.
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I didn't realize it before, but when you are paddling a kayak in the middle of a swamp, there is no place to pull over and get out for a few minutes to stretch. It's either paddle to the platform, which is something like 6 miles away, or swim. So we paddled, and paddled and paddled. We made it to our designated platform an hour or two before sunset. I even managed to get out of the kayak and onto the platform without falling into the swamp. (We're talking major achievement here.)
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We unloaded all the gear, set up the tents, and decided that before we broke out the canned tuna fish and canned chicken feast, we really needed to wash some of the sweat, sun block, insect repellant and mashed mosquitoes off of us. We just spent four hours paddling in 95 degree heat, 146 percent relative humidity, and 216 percent mosquito density. We didn't smell good. Even the bears were staying away. We discussed the bathing options, which basically came down to swimming out to open water or kayaking out to open water. After Steve mentioned something about leeches in the muck, I quickly settled on the kayak bathing option. I can now lay claim to having taken a "bath" using only a kayak, a coke bottle and swamp water. And it felt pretty darn good too! I made it back off the swamp and dried off and changed while Steve headed for the swamp water.
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When he got back we cracked open the canned tuna fish and chicken feast, and sat around the one candle that we brought with us that would stay lit. One candle light in 6000 acres of black swamp. Pretty cool. Well, not cool exactly. It was still all of 94 degrees two hours after sunset. But a couple of hours after we climbed into our tents, the temperature had plummeted to a comfy 93.5 degrees. I couldn't believe how hot it was in the middle of the night in that swamp. A couple of hours before sunrise, it finally got cool enough to sleep. And I would have slept too, if it wasn't for that 80 pound swamp bird that kept yelling BEEEYYAAAHAWWWAWEEE every time I dozed off. I didn't actually see what was making that noise, but based on the volume of noise it made, it had to go 80 pounds easy.

When 6 AM came, Steve was up and stirring around, and I knew that if I wasn't ready to leave when he was ready to leave I would not only be paddling back through the swamp alone, but thumbing a ride back to South Carolina too. So I got up, packed up, mounted up and we started paddling again. The kayak trip back was pretty uneventful other than having a few fish try to get in my kayak with me, and Steve bagging his limit of deer flies and mosquitoes. I once again managed to not fall in the swamp. The swamp is really a beautiful place. It is very pristine and there isn't a sign of any trash or people anywhere. Probably because the nuts who actually manage to get themselves into the swamp like that just aren't the kind of people who throw trash around.
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The kayak guy met us at the boat ramp at 11 AM as planned, and after telling him that we didn't need to "unload" the 3 inch diameter PVC plastic pipe bomb that he had supplied us with (you have to bring your own toilet paper, but he supplies the "depth charge", as Steve called it), he seemed to be relieved and asked us how we enjoyed the trip. He then drove us back to the airport, where Steve offered him a ride over the swamp in the RV-6A. An offer that he couldn't refuse. Twenty minutes later they landed. Turns out the kayak guy's dad was a fighter pilot just like Steve's dad was. Strange coincidence. I don't know how Banks is going to feel about paddling that route in 8 hours next time, when he flew over the whole thing in about 6 minutes in the RV. Quite a contrast.

After saying our goodbyes we loaded up the RV, taxied out to the end of the runway, lined up, and Steve says "Your take-off." This was not a question. My take-off. Hmmm. That RV takes off three times faster than my Aircoupe, and four times faster than I can think. OK. Ready, Aim, Fire. And we are airborne. Clear of the ground Steve says "Climb 140 MPH, for engine cooling." I hate it when Steve tells me to fly a certain airspeed. 'Cause 140 is 140, not 138, not 142, and I really have a hard time maintaining +/- 1 knot, which seems to be the deadband within which Steve will remain relatively happy. (I'm pretty sure he still has the head of a copilot that he used to fly a Hawker jet with tucked in his flight bag. Something about the copilot being 4 knots off of a calculated approach speed while 4 miles out on final....It was ugly....) Anyhow, we climbed out to 8500 feet with me keeping the airspeed locked between 40 and 240 MPH, and Steve trying hard not to notice.

The flight back was great as always. Those camper people are right: RV's are the only way to travel! Cool. Clear. No traffic. On top of the clouds. Glass cockpit displaying more performance, navigation and engine data than NASA could process in a week. Life is good. Except I am having a really hard time staying awake. The only thing that keeps me from dozing off is the fact that I'm hand flying the airplane, and I don't want to hear BEEEYYAAAHAWWWAWEEE from the left seat. So I stay awake.

Fifteen minutes from home I tell Steve it's time to start down. He says "Nah, wait until this number right here shows about 900." OK. Who am I to argue? What that number is, I have no idea, but I'm watching that number. It gets to 900 about 5 minutes later. I just know we're going to fly right past the airport. "OK, go 900 to 1000 FPM rate of descent." 1000 FPM??? Won't the wings fall off? OK. 1000 FPM on the VSI and we are headed down in a real hurry. We tuck under the edge of the Class C airspace, 3 miles from destination. The stick shakes and Steve says "I have the aircraft." Thank God for that. I don't think I could make the landing with my eyes closed like I did the take-off. The RV rolls out on the home turf at 1 PM exactly on schedule. Too much fun. Cold Cokes in the hangar. A few laughs. A few lies. Can't wait until Steve gets bored again. That'll probably be in about 3 days.......
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Best Regards,

Wayne DelRossi
Alon Aircoupe N5618F
 
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