The Eager Beaver goes to Birdsville Again - 1996

It's been a long day since leaving my home airfield at Kilcoy, Southeast Queensland 9.3 hours of flying time, and most of it lumpy,  so it's a great pleasure to walk on solid ground and hear the silence.  It's sundown, and I’m at Cooladdi Roadhouse, west of Charleville, after landing my little Beaver ultralight on a dirt track near the cattle yards.

Yes, I'm on my way to Birdsville again, with my faithful ultralight.  I enjoyed the trip so much last year, 

that I just had to go again.  I'd like to spend a couple of months flying around out here, but other 

commitments mean this is going to have to be just another quick trip (at 50 kts I guess ‘quick’ is relative).

Away early and overfly Quilpie.  The air is clear and steady, so it's hands-off – delightful flying!  Later, I feel drowsy is coming on, so land on the old abandoned airstrip near Thylungra Station and have a nap in the shade of the wing.  Now this is really becoming a holiday!

 Windorah airfield is busy with GA aircraft on their way to the races.  The road is also busy, so it's easy to get a lift into town for fuel and a steak sandwich.  Next stop, Betoota.  I have enough fuel to get all the way to Birdsville, but the airstrip right behind the pub makes this a very convenient stop, as always a good feeling to have lots of fuel reserve.  The place is really hectic, with travelers headed for the races.  What a contrast to the rest of the year!

The road below was a continual cloud of dust from the vehicles heading into the westerly sun, except where the recent heavy rain had flooded the claypans, and then they were busy pulling each other out of the bogs.  Once again, I was glad to be in a real high clearance vehicle.  500 feet is a good minimum clearance for some of these corrugations down there!

Could've made it to Birdsville just at sundown, but the VHF radio showed lots of incoming GA traffic hurrying to get down before last light, and since there was going to be more than enough talk and socializing in the days to come, I decided to have one more quiet night in the open.  So I landed on the enormous Roseberth Station airstrip, and had another peaceful and memorable night under the wing of my great little aircraft.  Next morning away at sunrise, and with only 16 miles to go, I was the first aircraft, of the day into Birdsville.

Lots of fast aircraft here all the way from the big cities.

Come for a wild time at the Birdsville Races

far away from prying eyes at home.

Mine was the only ultralight at Birdsville again this year, so it attracts a fair bit of attention.  That's just fine, because I unashamedly take every opportunity to tout the delights of flying 95.10 aircraft.  So it was particularly heartening this year, to meet again a biker I’d converted last year, and hear that he's now taking ultralight training, and is hooked!

  

The ‘entertainment’ was the same as always out there - a big booze up. 

I have no interest at all in horse racing, so haven't even been up to the track, and wouldn't be the only one either as the crowd around the pub only got a bit less when the racing was on - you still couldn't breathe inside, but you could at least find a place to sit on the curb! 

Fred Brophy's boxing tent starts up in the evening, and seems to attract more excitement than the races.  You have to be right up front and put up with the crush to get in, but it's worth every bit of it.  And some pretty game fighters come out of the crowd to challenge Brophy's pros, but there's some good fights, all in good fun, nothing nasty.  And as I've noted before, it seems unusual, with all that drinking going on, to have no fighting in the street; maybe that boxing tent acts as a safety valve.

Sunday morning, clouds of dust as the 250 aircraft started up and queued for departure.  On the VHF I heard one aircraft cancelled his SAR time only 10 minutes out, and announced that he was returning to Birdsville, “…due to ill passenger on board…”.  I think quite a few of them up there wouldn't have been really recovered from the night before…...

I've found a slot in the queue and took off, but didn't headed east with the flock.  I was headed west, Peopell’s Corner, in the Simpson desert, where Queensland, South Australia and the Northern Territory all meet.  I'd been too ‘Big Red’ the largest sand dune at the start of the desert last year and landed on a nearby claypan at that time.  Now, it was all underwater due to rain! 

The old seismic survey line, designated the QAA line, that serves as the track into the Simpson Desert, runs dead straight to the western horizon, through an ocean of sand dunes.  There's no other sign of civilization in any direction.  Now this is really starting to feel like an adventure!  It's only two wheel tracks in the sand, so you don't have to be very off to the side and it becomes invisible.  In the beginning there were frequent claypans between the large dunes, but these out-landing spots got fewer and fewer, until the last 20 miles or so were all small dunes, with only hummocky red sand and tough scrubby bushes in between.  Not inviting country for a single ignition two-stroke engine.

Landing on the sloping backside of a dune would be the best bet, but takeoff again wouldn't be possible.  I had dreamt for some time following the French Line right across the Simpson Desert, by arranging a fuel dump along the way, but it didn't look like such a good idea now.  Four-wheel drivers coming in out of the desert said there are vast areas of those small dunes with no claypans between.  I've had 450 hours without a miss from this great little 447 Rotax, and it’d only take another four hours to get right across, so the chances would seem to be good; but it still could happen at any time, so it just wouldn't be prudent, especially without ground support.

At Peopell’s Corner is a large dry (??)  salt lake that aircraft have used often before, but wheel tracks showed that four-wheel drives had been bogged here since that recent rain.  A touch and go left some nasty looking ruts in the surface, even though it felt firm enough underneath, but then that salty soil does tend to ‘fluff up’ when it dries out after a soaking.  It sure is a hold your breath feeling to settle down onto such an unknown surface in such a remote location.  

But no problems this time.  There are plenty of well-equipped four-wheel drives passing this way, that could give assistance if needed, but a bent aircraft would be a real hassle.  Taxied into shore and found a track packed down by vehicles that would make a better takeoff strip.  The 12 knot headwind on the way out had used up the fuel that I was hoping to have for local flying, so spent the rest of the day exploring on foot, and trying to learn the signs that indicate the firmness of the salt pans.  But no real good signs that I could find.  Then, another delightfully silent night under the stars, beside a small, steady fire of gidgee coals.

Next morning and  still blowing NW, and so rode the tailwind back to Birdsville.  On arrival found the place deserted, except for one very despond GA pilot.  When he had started up to go back to Melbourne he discovered a bad magneto.  Now a mechanic was going to have to fly all the way from Charleville to fit another one.  The cost of running a GA tinnie…...

The locals in Birdsville say another front is coming, maybe with more rain.  So it seems like a good idea to head east.  Stop again at Betoota for fuel, then on to the old ‘JC Hotel’ ruins west of Windorah for some fossicking, and camped the night.  Landed on a stony plain, barren except for an exquisite blanket of tiny wildflowers, the result of the recent rains.  The other result of the rain was the mosquitoes, millions of them!  I've fed a lot of mosquitoes in my time, but these had the most powerful drilling rigs I've ever come across -- they could easily drill right through new denim jeans.  I guess that makes sense when you realize that, while I'm not here, the main food source have thick, tough cow hides to penetrate!

I keep a defacto SAR watch going by ringing a fellow flyer back home whenever I find a telephone, and telling him where I'm headed next.  I had rung to tell him was going into the Simson Desert, but forgot to ring again when I came out.  I'd seen an oil exploration camp a few miles back, so flew over there and landed, and asked to use their satellite phone.  A very friendly reception from the staff, coffee and cakes, and an offer to keep unleaded fuel on hand for anyone passing that way another time.  One of them was really interested in the aircraft and the running costs and learning to fly – by the gleam in his eye I reckon he'll be flying some day soon.  This was one of those times when I wish I had  two-seater to give a demo ride…..

Normally I follow the roads religiously on a trip like this.  It just makes such good sense to have a continuous runway down there.  The roads mostly run fairly directly from one fuel stop to the next.  If they don't there's usually a darn good reason why they don't -- like tiger country with a difficult access.  They're usually wide and deserted, with no power lines.  Staying with the security of the road means that I can fly at 1000 feet.  AGL, where the perspective really makes the scenery grand, and I can spot small features and animals along the way.  I find it really boring flying at 5000 feet.  Flying along those remote roads is the most enjoyable, relaxing, and safe flying that I do.  I feel far safer there than in this coastal country, that’s all fenced into a little boxes, with a spider web of power lines everywhere.

But I'm headed directly at away from the road for a change, and looking for a permanent waterhole I'd seen on the map.  Along the edge of some wild, mountainous country, with lots of seismic survey lines, but not much else for out landings -- quite survivable, but probably bust my undercarriage.  Sure wish I had twin engines right now.  The GPS made the waterhole easy to find, and be darned if there wasn't an old, overgrown airstrip right there!  God bless all airstrip builders!  It was blocked in several places by bushes, but clear enough at the end for this ultralight.  Put it down carefully here, don't want to break something 26 miles from the nearest road.  It's a beautiful rock waterhole –deep and cold, what a place for a quiet stop, and a fossick around.  Lots of stone tool chips by Aborigines -- of course they would've treasured a waterhole like this one, even more than we do.  

Windmill and bough shed at the waterhole.

Next morning that front is still coming so I better get on my way.  I could take off just on this end of the strip, but there'd be no way really good to go if there was an engine failure on climb out.  So I get out the machete and clear enough bushes to taxi to the top in the strip.  It’s slightly downhill so good short takeoff, then break right 30 degrees to make the best chance of getting back onto the strip if engine out (how come we don't always use this tactic is a standard circuit procedure???  -- It seems a lot safer.  More on this topic another time)

It’s blowing even stronger northerly now, so I can't get across to Jundah on this fuel.  I've always wanted to go there someday and have a look at where two rivers join to become a creek (the Thompson and the Barcoo to become Coopers Creek), but I guess it will still be there for another trip.  It was a wild, turbulent crosswind landing at the Windorah, and it got even more exciting, when it turned out that one tire was completely flat!  Very nearly ground-looped away from the wind, but once again saved by the excellent directional control of this tricycle gear.

It turned out that I’d picked up a thorn at the waterhole.  I did try to prevent this possibility before leaving home and by buying a pressure pack of self-sealing compound to put in the tires, but on reading the instructions it sounded as if it was only to be used after a puncture, and then the innertube was to be replaced as soon as possible.  I called the customer service number on the can, to ask if it could be put in a tire and left there to prevent a flat, but she didn't know anything, and was only reading the directions the same as I could do.  I wanted to talk to someone who understood the technicalities, but then I made the mistake of mentioning that it was for an aircraft tire.  She immediately recommended that it not be used at all, and wouldn't even let me talk to anyone else - I should've said it was for my wheelbarrow!  I couldn't use the pressure pack to inflate the tire now because the valve stem had disappeared inside the rim.  I didn't have any way of lifting the aircraft and putting a rock under the axle at the same time.  So I put a ‘Screw-It’ in the ground under the opposite wing and pulled down with ropes until the wheel was in the air - worked great!

Luckily Widorah service station had a new 400 x 8 tube, so I just replaced it.  And in future I'll make sure that the tires always have leak preventing compound inside -  it’s just too risky landing on a tire that looks fine in the air, that could be completely flat.

The wind was hot, and now up to 15 to 20 kt NW, which is a pretty strong sign that the front isn’t too far away, and since Quilpie is a SE track from Windorah, I decided to ride a tailwind today rather than fight the southerly tomorrow.  I wouldn't make Quipie before dark, but would go as far as I could and then land out somewhere.  After a very lively crosswind takeoff, the GPS showed increasing tailwind with altitude.  At 4900 feet.  I was averaging 83 kt for the ground speed - that's a 33 kt tailwind!  What a ride -  fast and smooth!  Got all the way to Quilpie, and landed just at sundown, and tied down to be ready for the front.  Really needed the ‘Screw-Its’ here; this was the hardest ground I've found yet.  At midnight the front hit with a swirl of flying sand, and nearly blew the tent away, but the aircraft was secure - a great feeling! 

Next morning the wind was now a cold southerly, a really different feeling....  Took off early, but the dust clouds from the passing front, and the rising Sun made bad visibility, so turned around and landed again and sat at the street table outside the bakery and watched the locals come and go for their smokos.  Quilpie is a really nice, friendly little town, as always a pleasure to stop there.

Headed out again midmorning, NE track to Charleville so a 10 kt tailwind component from the southerly.  It seemed tame compared to yesterday, but how that was about to change!  At Charleville, I caught up with the dust cloud, but determined to continue riding the tailwind that was now 15 kt - not a wise decision!  It soon got very rough and turbulent, and in the dust restricted visibility considerably - not good conditions to be flying over this mulga with few out landing options.  The option of turning back to Charleville wasn't really possible anymore either, as that treasured tailwind would then be a rough 15 kt headwind.

Lesson learned – riding strong tailwinds is great fun, but it means that turning back is not such a viable option as usual - the decision to turn back must be made right when passing over the alternative, not later.

Must keep that lesson in mind in the future.  But as for now...  Decided to land at Morven.  The windsock was twisting all directions, but was surrounded by trees, so maybe it didn't know the real story.  It was a wild roller coaster landing approach, and once on the ground, the reason was obvious.  The wind was once again hot, interspersed with cool gusts, and from every direction - I had caught up with the front, and is now right at the mixing edge of it.  So, another lesson learned in the same day...  Be careful not to overrun a front from behind...  Luckily this was a dry front.

Another lesson learned - When riding a tailwind, be careful not to overrun a front from behind.

Pulled the aircraft right back into the bush and tied down to sit this one out.  Sheltering in the tent, cold wind outside, couldn't even have a fire due to gusts blowing sparks around - a good quiet time to review the lessons learned today... 

On to Roma.  Wind now strong SW, and cold...  4°C at 4800 feet.  A rough and tiring flight, but now back in the grain farming belt, so lots of open, cultivated country.  Roma is a good place for a stop over -   mogas right on the airfield, friendly helpful service, a big town with good facilities.  A good place to do a thorough post flight and maintenance, then into town for a hot shower and a real bed for a change.  Lots of hot water and a big steak sure feels good, but with trucks roaring by and TV blaring ads downstairs, I'm already missing my swag by the fire of gidgee coals...

 

But at least the TV last night showed an excellent weather map - the front that's been chasing me all the way across the state has brought a big, winter high right over us, so it'll be calm and cool.  And cool it is, with frost on the wing in the morning!  I could go straight home from here, but still have a couple of days to spare, and have always wanted to see the Carnarvon Gorge, north of here, so this is a chance not to miss.

Cool, steady air - perfect hands-off flying conditions - stunning scenery.  I'm flying along the eastern edge of the Carnarvon range, directly above massive vertical cliffs that run for 20 miles.  On the right are the green and gentle paddocks of the Arcadia Valley, on the left is the wild ‘tiger country’ of the ranges.  The morning sun, baking on the cliffs, is generating a steady line of lift, so that I'm throttled right back,  and just coasting along at 45 kts.  Absolutely stoked!!!  What a memorable flight!

The gorge itself is near the edge of the range, so I can see down into it, but have to stay too high to get a good look...  Must always be able to glide clear of course.  Right at the entrance to the national park is a large airstrip.  I don't know who owns it, but could land there sometime and hike up into the gorge.

Rolleston has a good strip right next to town, and by taxing right across the showground to the fence, it's only a short walk to fuel and food and friendly locals.  There's something about a mid-day nap under the wing of an aircraft, after a fine mornings flying, that's the very best of luxury!  Then east to the Dawson Range.  For years I've wanted to explore this range, because, on the WAC chart it looks like a spectacular knife edge ridge standing above the plain.  But it turned out that’s really just a narrow band of low hills - I guess the artist doing the shading on the map was in a creative mood at the time!

Moura is a big open cut coal mining area.  

Holes drilled for explosives ready for blasting.

Better not fly over here.....

Flying gives a great perspective of it all, but I won't overfly  the mines themselves, after looking down into one and seeing the pattern of hundreds of shot holes being readied for blasting!

 Then a few more minutes of flying to Theodore, and the contrast of gentle green fields all around town - what a great way to view all this magnificent country!!!  Then some exciting ‘tiger country’ to cross and arrive at Taroom strip at sundown - what a memorable day!

The strip is a long way from town, but there's a very active gliding club here, so I was hoping to get a lift to town for fuel, but no one around today.  Next morning, the idea of hitching 13 km to town, and then back again, with jerry cans, at 6 AM on a Sunday morning, didn't seem like a real good idea.  I still have enough fuel to get to Wandoan, but no airstrip marked on the map.  But there is a grain silo on the map, so there should be some flat fields near town, that would do for this trail bike, so flew on…..  But, I'll be darned, if there wasn't the most perfect grass airstrip, complete with windsock, right beside the town!  Once again, God bless all airstrip builders!

Enough fuel to get home now, but there is an SAAA fly-in at Kingaroy this weekend, so might as well drop in for a look.  Fine weather, so a good turnout, they’re looking at airplanes, talking about airplanes talking about building airplanes, talking politics etc., etc., etc, mostly talking.  So I grab a sandwich and fly on….

This is the last leg of the journey, so it might be a good time to have a look at navigation.  I enjoy conventional navigation, but had a borrowed GPS along this time, and it certainly was a good aid.  For the whole trip I'd only used the position page -  it just shows the ground speed, track made good, latitude and longitude.  Knowing the true ground speed and track at all times, makes the term ‘dead reckoning’ navigation sort of a misnomer – it’s really just track plotting now.  I use the ground speed constantly to figure the wind, and frequently marked a fix and the time on the map, but never entered any waypoints on the GPS, or ever used the GOTO function.

If GPS ever failed, I would be back to dead reckoning, but with the advantage of a recent, accurate fix to start from.  However, on this last leg I knew that Kilcoy was entered in the waypoint list and so pushed the GOTO button.  It was fun watching the little arrow that told exactly how far off track, especially when deviating around ‘tiger country’, and then watching as I got back towards the direct track.  It was quite fascinating, and so easy...  This could become a habit...

Then a message flashed on the screen “poor satellite coverage”, and the screen went blank!  Now what?!  I knew I was still a couple of miles to the right of the track, but I'd been watching the little arrow so much that I didn't know how far I was along the track - is it this valley or the next one???  Luckily this is my ‘backyard’ so I knew the way home anyhow, but if it happened on one of those legs when I was pushing last light, and low fuel, over strange country, it could have quickly developed into a really serious problem.  I know that such instruments seldom fail, but this incident was so timely that I have to wonder, if it wasn't ‘someone up there’ reconfirming a lesson that I already knew...  by all means use the GPS as a navigational aid, but beware of using it as a homing device !!!

Lesson - by all means use GPS as a navigational aid, but beware of using it as a homing device!

As I close the hangar doors I noticed how dirty the little aircraft is -  red dust all over, exhaust smoke on the tail, even a bit of salt bush still caught in the tail wheel.  It all tells of 43 hours of memorable flying adventure that I wouldn't have missed for anything!

John Gilpin