Long time ago...

[sixtiesrelic]

I noticed an old friend up in the random photos across the top of the page to-day.

 

The yellow and white Tri-pacer VH-KKO.

 

My mate Muriel bought him in 1985 or 6.

 

 

For some reason Muriel reckoned chunky old KKO was a boy plane and named him Oscar;

 

 

we reckoned out Tri-pacer DEB was a she.

 

KKO came into my life sometime after I got a phone call from Muriel saying she wanted to buy our Tri-pacer, which had just been advertised. She had already rushed in and bought an Ansett one way ticket from Adelaide to Brissy to pick the plane up and fly it home.

 

I’ve not heard many heart rendering, moans of disappointment like Muriel’s when I told her she was two hours too late. I’d just accepted a deposit from a young Western farmer after taking him up for a fly in DEB.

 

Muriel was adamant she was buying a Tri-pacer and I added my bit to enhance her conviction that a PA22 was the most desirable aircraft a person could own.

 

We decided to meet next time I was in Adelaide, when I could give her some pretty rare paperwork on Tri-pacers.

 

Next steed to come on the market was KKO.

 

He arrived in Parafield in the mid eighties from I forget where, and on coming to a halt in his new parking spot, sagged with exhaustion as a tyre went flat. He knew he was at his new home and was going to be looked after by a nice lady.

 

He was a bit tired and needed some work done on him, but Muriel snaffled him before anyone else got a look in.

 

Can’t remember all the little jobs that needed doing. Definitely at least one tyre and tube.

 

The fabric’s dope needed rejuvenating so she decided that a new colour scheme wouldn’t go astray at the same time.

 

My first fly in him was when he was still in the original scheme.

 

We went for a burn out of Parafield to the East for a look at Murray Bridge and the Coorong. He performed normally and the engine ran faultlessly.

 

My judgement was, “It’s a good aeroplane”.

 

 

A year later when Oscar was just all white with rejuvenated fabric we decided I would come over to Adelaide and we’d fly up to Western Queensland where DEB had moved to and spend a couple of days out on the station and go for a fly in both aircraft as well as some flying in company for video purposes. From there we could fly to Brissy where three more Tri-pacers were living.

 

After a week or so at my place we could fly back via Southern NSW where we could stay at another mate’s property.

 

Muriel was an instructor, so I suggested we take one of her students along and he could do some training on the way and get experience at flying and navigating over the remote area.

 

Colin won the spot and we set off a few weeks later. It was early winter, so even in the middle of the day flying conditions were calm and pleasant.

 

We got as far as Tiboobera the first day. Gawd what a dreary place. I can only remember the fact that the street was at the foot of a rocky hill, so the back of the forlorn shops and houses had a cliff for a back fence. There wasn’t any sort of a back yard.

 

Much of the inland is beautiful, not so some of the country we flew over, enroute to Quilpie. There’s a swag of it that is dreary, looking like some untidy old bloke’s face who’s not too particular the way he shaves; when he does… tufts of many day old bristles amongst the wrinkles and blackheads.

 

It’s because of the trees. They don’t grow straight and tall but tend to clump and the black, scraggy branches and trunks fall outwards to lie for years littering the red ground. Some spinifex grows prettily in pompoms while the older stuff we saw goes donutty shaped. Again unkempt, especially when near the trees and gibber patches.

 

A lot to do with the colour of that country depends on the direction you’re looking. Northbound you see all the shadows, which intensify the bleakness of the sparse black trees and dusky, grey foliage.

 

Often, if you look at the same country southbound you see the smoky glow of the sunny side of the foliage which is much more pleasing.

 

Most of my flying in the South West of Queensland was East West. Coming up from the South, everything looked different.

 

Cloudy condition over the grey country doesn’t liven the scenery up much either.

 

Our destination was East of Quilpie and things didn’t look quite right as we got close to our ETA.

 

There were no real landmarks for quite some time out of Thargomindah, so it had been just a case of holding the heading. There wasn’t any problem in getting lost, as we would cross the east west railway line the property was straddling.

 

When the line came into view we should have been able to see Qulpie way off a wingtip.

 

“Wrong sort of country out there… there’s been a bit of a mistake somewhere, we’re too far East”.

 

Turned West and soon found Cheepie and continued along the line to where we should be.

 

With a bit of re-measuring it became evident we’d steered something like 022 rather than 012. A bit of mistake between measuring on the protractor and writing numbers in a box during flight planning.

 

We stayed a few days on the station, roo shooting for the dog’s meat, flying each others planes, bit of car racing and motorbike riding.

 

 

Colin was a city boy. He’d never ridden a motor bike. He’d only had a few drives of his parent’s automatic

 

Had his first go on one of the farm trail bikes; one with a bit of getup and go. The boys liked tinkering with engines

 

The first two tries ended in too quick clutch releasing and not enough throttle… stalls.

 

His first takeoff was most spectacular. On not stalling, there was a wobbly, alarming, lurchy careen towards a parked, Landcruiser ute, with a miraculous avoidance at the last moment.

 

 

More a loss of balance than skilful steering, Col missed having a nasty accident by a smidgen and proceeded with a sedate, wide orbit, getting the feel of things.

 

Confident, he headed over towards the shearers quarters and did a gear change. Bit jerky, but steady in the roll axis, so he sped up and changed to third. A small wobble had him twisting the throttle and getting a great surprise at the surging acceleration, which caused him to lean back.

 

Colin hung on.

 

TIGHT.

 

Throttle full open, he headed for Thargomindah.

 

Didn’t matter how loud we yelled, “Let the throttle go!” Colin couldn’t hear us.

 

Wind rushing past his ears… no helmet, the screaming engine… too far away…

 

He got her under control out near the railway line. Luckily the seasons had been dry Grass clumps had been eaten and he was on the edge of a clay pan. Lots a room to manoeuvre.

 

When he got back, again a moment of confusion…just what controls to manipulate slipped his mind and he had period of uncontrollability ending in a sudden, dusty crash into the wall of the generator shed.

 

It was his seventeenth birthday. There’s no doubt he’ll always remember that day.

 

After he calmed down and we had lunch, Colin was given the task of going to the strip and doing ONE circuit.

 

His third solo.

 

There was about thirty to forty minutes of fuel in each tank.

 

Plan was, when he turned crosswind after take off, we would see him from the back veranda and then we would go to the strip to refuel both aircraft.

 

Colin did a 450 degree turn from upwind to crosswind and we went into the house to get what we needed, put on our boots and drove round to the strip.

 

Plane was parked in a funny position. One wheel up on the mound that the grader left on the side of the cleared strip.

 

Colin was beside Oscar scoffing water from the emergency bottle.

 

Muriel saw that something was wrong from the way he looked… ashen and shaky. Bit like after we got the bike off him beside the gene shed.

 

“Whad ja park it like that ya mad illegitimate person? “

 

“Had an engine failure!”

 

“What?”

 

“Engine failed”

 

“Where… when?”

 

“Just after I did the turn over the homestead”

 

“Whad’ja do then?”

 

“Forced landed down the strip”

 

We hadn’t heard it because the wireless was on the country hour in the kitchen and Grandad was a bit hard of hearing.

 

 

Col points out where he had the failure.

 

“Bu.ger! A dicky engine a long way from an engineer”.

 

I had a bit of a think.

 

“I don’t reckon there’s anything wrong. From what he’d described, sounds like maybe fuel starvation.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Dipped the tanks… they were OK.

 

Pulled the prop through. No binding or funny noises. No oil leaks. Nothing out of the ordinary.

 

“I’ll start her up”.

 

The crowd were a bit leery about my doing a test flight, but the surrounding country was flat and there were plenty of good tracks and the claypan to land on, IF the engine failed.

 

I reckoned I’d know if it was crook in the twenty five seconds it takes to get to sixty five knots and the strip is very long.

 

 

Put some more fuel in both tanks and did a circuit.

 

 

Not a cough… ran like always.

 

Un-coordinated (skidding) turn over the homestead! Fuel starved at the inboard tank outlet as it pooled in the outer part of the tank, but enough in the line and carby to keep the engine running till he was pointing downwind then the big bubble of air in the fuel line starved the engine for a few seconds. That was enough to have Col go rapidly into forced landing mode and close the throttle.

 

Listening to the lack of exhaust sound, Col decided to get her down from the very favourable position he was in, he turned the fuel, magies and master off and glided in for an uneventful landing. Wasn’t happy looking at the stationary prop poking up where usuakky there was a blur. He started turning at the end of the landing roll and stopped, facing the strange direction.

 

Most other pilots would probably have dithered around not closing the throttle, just long enough for the fuel to fill the carby and the engine to run smoothly again. Colin was like a coiled spring being so new to the game and on the first cough, he was into the drill.

 

There was a big high over the centre so conditions were calm and perfect for lots of fun flying for the video camera.

 

 

We got lots of beaut aerial sunset footage that afternoon.

 

When we left a couple of days later we headed East for Brissy. The country slowly changed from red sand and gibbers to continuous mulga to mixed farms.

 

 

We landed at Charleville for the experience and refuelled at Roma then saw the country green up as we reached the Darling Downs where green, grey, black, and brown parallel lines in lines stretched out in geometric patterns as far as the eye could see. Over an hour of cattle country and we had Oscar tied down at Redcliffe ready to meet Charlie when he came over from Caboolture.

 

 

This one was taken a couple of years later. Charlie's the red one

 

The rest of the trip… maybe I’ll write that another day. But I’ll mention this bit…

 

 

When we landed at Gunedah, we parked in front of another Tri-pacer. DNW

 

Muriel was so impressed with the colour scheme that we photographed it so she could show the painter what she had finally decided.

 

He WAS pleased.

 

Bein’ a woman, Muriel couldn’t quite decide what scheme she wanted for months and months while Oscar sat round pure white with only his rego taped on.

 

Old Ocar still has that same livery. I spotted him in our member (VH-KDK’s) 2008 photo.

 

Interestingly on having a bit of a search on the net I see DNW changed colour schemes completely and is reported now having a tail wheel.

 

Tri-pacers are NOT a attractive aeroplane. The nickname, “ Milkstool” suits ‘em

 

It’s because they were modified from tailwheeler to tricycle. When you see ‘em back to original form they’re a pretty little aeroplane.

 

 

[siznaudin]

A wonderful story, Sixties - thank you for sharing it with us.

 

And yes; I also agree with the "milk stool" title! :tongue:

 

 

[Coop]

Yes- couldn't agree more about the looks. But great little load carriers- ideal for touring- or so I am told, haven't managed to get my bum in one yet, but impressed by the number of (sometimes large) bodies that tumble out of the Tri-pacers at various fly-ins.

 

Coop

 

 

[sixtiesrelic]

I was talking to a mate who owned a Tripacer and he reminded me that there was a placard that said, "Level flight only, when left tank is less than a third full".

 

That was because there was only one outlet in that tank. The other was an inlet from the aux tank under the back seat.

 

You had to transfer the aux fuel to the left tank ... couldn't draw from the Aux to the engine.

 

Colin must have had the left tank selected and this would have cause me to think there was the fuel starvation.

 

 

[wazjones]

VH-DNW seems to be getting a lot of photographic attention of late.

 

I recently seen it in a R/C publication(Airborne) sporting a blue livery these days I think.

 

I remember doing some work on it as a work experience student a long,long time ago & even had a flight in it from Parkes to Cudal to get some work done on the radios.

 

 

[sixtiesrelic]

I only saw it the one time but was reminded each time I saw KKO when he was yellow and white because I'd waited a year to see what colour scheme KKO would finally get.