Great photos. I see that you don't have any with me in them so I will
tell you this story...

I work for the INS and was transporting some "illegals" the other day
from Seattle to San Diego in my C-210. They were to be deported from
SDINS as soon as we landed.

One of the occupants, Pablito, asked me in broken English if we could
route our flight by Mt St Helens. At first I resisted and then gave in
when I noticed that he was walking on two wooden legs--I just couldn't
find it in my heart to turn him down.

We approached from the N.W, did a turn around Spirit Lake when I heard
some God awful noises coming from the engine. I thought it was the turbo
but wasn't sure and began looking for places to do a forced landing
which I admit I should have been doing all along.

As I was peering down the engine lost about 1000 rpm and I decided that
I needed to get down right away so I headed for the only smooth landing
area available--the dome of Mt St Helens. My passengers began speaking
wildly in Spanish and tightening their seat belts. I set up the approach
while Pablito, who was the only one seeming calm and collected, pulled
out a small Tupperware container from inside his shirt.

The smell of Mexican food filled the cockpit as I swept down low and
steeply upward adjusting to the angle of the dome, set the transponder
to 7700, and tried to raise FSS on 121.5--nothing. A small steam plume
was on my 3 o'clock and the ride became bumpy as the thermals hit. I
stuck in 10 degrees of flaps, added all the power I had available and
adjusted my approach so that the stall horn was screaming in the last 10
feet or so. We hit the 30 degree slope and rolled out only about 150
feet before we were completely stopped. The sound of Mexican praying
turned to enthusiastic congratulations as we all immediately exited.

I was so relieved as I stepped out of the cockpit that I didn't notice
the smell of sulfur and the very hot ground that we were parked on. The
parking brake groaned and we chocked the wheels with clumps of lava
rock. I called FSS to let them know that we were OK--still no contact.

While I was still recovering from the shock, Juan, an A & P in his
country, had stuck his nose under the cowling and was speaking to one of
others ( I forget his name) and pointing to an outcropping. Pablito
overhearing the conversation immediately began to hobble over toward the
steep ridge. Juan motioned to me and pointed to something that was
lodged near the turbo. It appeared to be a small animal with very singed
fur. Apparently, he felt it could be removed with a good sized stick
which Pablito had volunteered to go for.

Pablito was getting smaller now as he made his way to the ridge. We
began to smell burning rubber which, it turned out, was a combined smell
of tennis shoes and tires beginning to melt. We all jumped back into the
aircraft except, of course for Pablito who was now just a small speck on
a sheer outcropping of rock.

Suddenly there was a loud pop and the aircraft dipped to one side. We
had blown a tire. Somehow it was only then that I realized we would
either have to hike out of here real fast before our tennis shoes could
melt, or hope that FSS or CAP was picking up our transponder or ELT and
come an rescue us.

Pablito returned with the large stick but as I looked him over I noticed
that he seemed somehow smaller and was walking strangely. Then I saw
that his shoes were missing and there was a gooey mess on the bottoms of
his wooden legs. His shoes had melted off! He had walked directly
across a small lava flow in order to retrieve the somewhat charred stick
and was now waving it triumphantly, though he was a full 3 inches shorter.

Juan, very quickly in and out of the cockpit, used the stick to dislodge
the small intruder from the turbo. Just for kicks, I hit the started and
the engine analyzer now indicated normal in all cylinders. Dammed, I
thought. If only that tire hadn't blown I would be able to point this
thing downhill and effect a takeoff!

Juan was gesturing to me by raising his hands above his head with the
palms flattened toward the sky. For some reason he wanted us to lift the
aircraft up. I shrugged and we all took respective positions around the
aircraft while Juan remained inside. It was only when the craft was
lifted that I realized his plan. He immediately retracted the gear and
we set the aircraft down on the hot ground, rotated it around to point
downhill, and rapidly jumped in the aircraft...all except for Pablito
who took his good ole time.

I was a little concerned about prop clearance for the takeoff run but,
as it turned out, the longitudinal angle with reference to the steep
slope seem to allow plenty of clearance. I started her up while
feathering the prop but she leaned forward anyway. Fearing a prop
strike, I added full takeoff power and increased the prop pitch while
holding way back on the elevator.

The scraping sound on the belly was almost unbearable coupled with the
smell of sulfur, burnt tennis shoes and Mexican food, but she lifted off
easily and we were airborne once again.

I have posted pictures of the legs of Pablito and the C-210 sitting on
the side of the dome at:

http://www.nhoem.state.nh.us/mitigat...wo%20Frame.jpg

http://www-laog.obs.ujf-grenoble.fr/...ioloncelle.jpg


Antonio