Best one yet.


At 23:54 30 October 2005, Charles Petersen wrote:
I've had a rather prickly reception from the military
too. About 5 years
ago I was on a cross country flight across the flat
Dundalk highlands of
central Ontario, and expecting lift to improve over
the afternoon, I had
elected to go downwind for the first leg. I dropped
off the edge of the
plateau, but the wind picked up until upwind progress
became impossible, and
I eventually realized that I wasn't going to make it
home, let alone
complete my task. So it became a decision of where
to land and get a
retrieve. Just north of me was a military installation,
Base Borden, with a
partially decommissioned airport. I observed the signature-yellow
2-33's
flown by the Royal Canadian Air Cadets operating, and
realized this was the
weekend the military were to 'convert' the Air Cadets
I had helped instruct
to licence only a few weeks before. The base was just
off the edge of my
sectional, so I didn't have their frequency, and they
didn't respond on
121.5, so I lingered over a sand quarry long enough
to observe the flight
operation, and then flew a circuit NORDO, landing
on an out of use runway.
The kids rushed up asking to sit in the glider, see
the flight computer, try
on the parachute, etc. Shortly thereafter a Major,
who shall go nameless,
arrived in his best ramrod straight parade ground manner,
- introduced
himself and demanded my identification and registration.
The very soul of
hospitality, he was.... I handed him a business card
and pointed out that
the registration was painted on the aircraft. 'Didn't
I know this was a
closed airport?' he demanded. 'Yes', I replied, 'that
is general
knowledge'. 'Well', he said, 'you need advance permission
to land here, and
that permission must be obtained 24 hours in advance.'
'Major', I replied,
'I just made a forced landing, and I don't need anyone's
advance permission
to do so'. 'But you didn't call in for clearance'
he replied. I explained
that the base is off my sectional and I had tried 121.5.
'You are required
to carry the Canadian Flight Supplement; - you could
have looked it up'. 'I
believe, Major, that I am required to carry a CURRENT
copy of the CFS, IF I
carry it, but not to carry one per se', I replied,
inviting him to observe
the limited baggage area and its inaccessibility.

Then he played his best card, abandoning his poker
face for the smile of
victory; - 'Fine, but how are you going to get your
glider out of here?' I
suggested that as he had not offered me a tow, mentioning
that it is a
reciprocal courtesy among gliding operations, that
I could call my club to
send a tug. 'That aircraft won't be making a forced
landing; - he'll need
permission', he replied. 'Well, who gives such permission?'
I asked. 'I
used to, but I don't any longer' was his response.
'Well who else is
authorized to grant permission?' 'He's not on the
Base' he responded, quite
pleased with himself. 'Fine', I replied, 'I'll have
my partner bring the
trailer'. 'He'll need permission to bring the trailer
on the field' he
said.

'O.K., who gives that permission?' I asked, sensing
this was going to be
difficult. 'You'll have to go right up the chain of
command, all the way to
the top in Ottawa' he all but crowed. 'How about the
Minister of National
Defence?' I asked. 'He'll do very well' was his answer.
'Should I call him
with such a small thing? I asked. 'Go ahead', he replied.
'You're sure?' I
asked. 'Yes, call him.'

Now by coincidence, I had known the Minister for many
years; - he was at my
wedding, and we occasionally eat at each others homes.
Even better, I had
his cell number on my speed dial. He listened as I
called, and left a voice
mail message explaining that I had made a forced landing
and that Major ***
had instructed me to call him for permission to retrieve
my glider, and
requested that he detail someone to call the Major
and authorize him to
release the glider. Sure I was bluffing, he swaggered
away.

I guess it was the kids who talked to him about the
picture that was
published a few weeks earlier with them clustered around
the Minister
sitting in a glider. When they explained that I had
driven the Minister to
the field for the presentation of their licences, the
light bulb went on.
He approached with a much friendlier demeanour, and
said 'You know, I was
trying to be your fried back there'. 'Really?' I asked,
' I thought you
were trying to be a jerk'. 'Well, you threatened me;
- you called the
Minister...' I reminded him that I had three times
verified he wanted me to
call, whereupon he said he had 'decided to go out on
a limb and release your
plane'. And so I got an aero-retrieve from my club's
tug.

I should mention in defence of the military that one
of the Major's
colleagues, a Captain Shantz, was by contrast the very
soul of hospitality,
and offered me a phone, washroom, cold drinks and an
inspection of the
immaculately maintained 2-33's (would you believe hydraulic
disk brakes?),
while apologising for the hassle. And so I left a
second message for the
Minister, and had one of the Air Cadets run my wing
for the launch.


'Charles Yeates' wrote in message
...
1967, during the Canadian Nationals, I crossed the
border and landed my
Austria on the Strategic Air Command base at Plattsburg,
NY � touched
down on a taxiway, rolled under the wing and engines
of a B52 as I turned
down the ramp. Stopped between facing rows of B52s
and K135 tankers. Had
time to get out of the cockpit before armed guards
rushed up in a pickup
truck. Traveled in the back on knees and knuckles
to the Guard House
where I was interrogated by #2 to the Base Commander.
He was formal but
interested and sympathetic because the previous week,
on a training flight
to England, he had had his first glider ride.

Separating the Hangar Line from the Ramp was a suspended
yellow rope. �See
that�, he said, �there are six thousand people
on this base and four
thousand of them cannot cross that line � and you
landed there�. This
meant that selected air force personnel had to derig
and trailer the
glider. We were escorted by the military all the
way to the Can/US border
to make sure we crossed.
---------------------------
1960, at a US Nationals in Odessa, TX, I landed in
a cotton field behind
the Texas State Asylum. My crew threatened to leave
me there � an
appropriate place, said my wife � but that is another
story.

--
Charles Yeates

http://www3.ns.sympatico.ca/yeatesc/world.html