Well, another year has passed and another memorable "Horsham Week" completed. As "Horsham Weeks" go, maybe not so memorable for the flying, but it was one of those weeks full of funny incidents. So if you are hoping to read a startling story of an epic flight, maybe you should put this article down. However, if you want a laugh, read on!
The week was troubled; lower than average temperatures, high cirrus cover and inaccurate turn point coordinates locked into the GPS. Actually my very first "Horsham Week" prize was won on my first day's flight!.l was presented with a model aeroplane to help me get home. Yes, I had landed out 30 kms further on from the first turn point. The GPS was out just by one degree.
Actually it seemed to be a week with more than the usual amount of outlandings, just ask Wayne Mackley and Bill Johnston. To be fair they had entered the Janus in Open Class and were competing against the best. With aircraft including an ASH25, Nimbus 3 and the like, the competition was impressive and the tasks a bit long for the conditions.
Day three was probably the best day of the week and John Ashford, with whom I was sharing the LS4, returned home after a good run back on the final leg. After one or two of the amber nectar, john and I began to munch on one of the Wimmera Gliding Club famous evening dinners, of course complimented with a refreshing bottle of red. By this time, it was after 9 pm and very dark. We were a little concerned that we heard nothing from Whiskey Quebec. Surely they must have landed by now? The next question was: "which of the delicious sweets should we partake?" Too late to choose, we could see somebody carefully chalking WQ on the outlanding board. Oh well, so much for my fresh fruit and ice cream. What to do next?
We decided that John should chase up the glider's position, whilst I rounded up Simon Brown for the extra muscles that we would surely need to de-rig the Janus. After hitching up the trailer to Bills car, I drove over to the hanger where John and Simon were waiting. Now, who was to drive? We all began to calculate our alcohol intake for the evening. Of course I won (or lost!). With one light beer and a couple of red wines I came well ahead of Simon and John, not that I am accusing them of over indulgence.
Off we go on the road to Nhill, the coordinates locked into the GPS and a map showing the exact position of the glider. What would possibly go wrong? I was confident of an easy retrieve: John as navigator and Simon delegated as emergency anti-sleep controller (his constant chatter guaranteed to keep everyone awake!).
First problem. The map supplied for us showed precisely where the glider should be, but the road that we had to follow went off the edge of the map. "Not a problem"says John, "don't forget we have the GPS".
Second problem. By the gentle sound of snoring coming from the front seat, Simon was not up to his part in the operation. To be honest though, he did a very good job of keeping the driver awake.
John awoke close to where we were disappearing from the map. "No worries"he said, "I will switch on the GPS, that will show us which way to go and with 4 satellites showing, how could we go wrong!" Now, don't forget my introduction into using GPS, what could go wrong, well ....
After passing through Gerang Gerung, we realized that we should be turning left pretty soon, bringing us onto the road heading for the dynamic duo. "Stop the car" said John, "I will check the GPS and see which way we should be heading. The arrow is pointing to the rear, we will have to turn around". Now, this is not an easy job. This is the main highway to Adelaide, and to turn a 10 mtr. Trailer on a highway where you can quite often see 3 or 4 enormous trucks no more than 2 mtrs. apart, I had to be very careful to complete the task very, very quickly. Turn complete (thank you to the god of long trailer turnings), "OK. Now then, let's have another check of the GPS". Yes, you guessed it, John decided that the arrow was in fact pointing in the original direction. I carefully turned the trailer around again and stopped so that we could be really confident of the way that we should be heading. Simon came up with suggestion that the GPS should be moving in a constant direction before a true reading could be ascertained. "That shouldn't be a problem" said John -"I will walk on ahead with my torch and read from the GPS". After a minute or two, he headed back to us with the news that we were still heading in the wrong direction. Around we go again. "But wait, it still doesn't look right" said John. "Maybe if I run, it will be more accurate!"
Now this is where I began to see the funny side of the situation. The sight of John running down the road, trouser at regulation half mast, GPS held out at arm's length and the torch set to illuminate the scene. A chuckle began to emulate from both Simon and I, only to disappear as the next car passed us, which turned out to be one from the local constabulary. I think that, although they may not of appreciated the spectacle as we did, they were surely suspicious and quickly turned around to investigate. It must have been the sight of John running away from the 10 mtr. Trailer with what looked to be a mobile phone and a torch ready to ring for help.
Now I felt quite confident that I would not have a problem if asked to take a breath test, but really didn't want to be put into that situation. You could imagine my horror as Simon began to talk, quite closely, to our friends in blue. Not only did he tell them of our plight, breathing heavily at close quarters, but also went on to ask why the back of their car was so full of junk! I sank behind the wheel but decided that maybe it would look less suspicious if I went over to the police car. As it turned out I should not have worried because they could not have been more helpful. Not only did they bring out their CFA map, but even offered to find the road for us and return to give us the correct direction of which to travel! I had to turn around again!
We thanked them for all their assistance and headed in the general direction of our goal. We finally met up with Bill outside the farmhouse and under a full moon carried out a very uneventful derig. As we drove out of the paddock, Bill was adamant that we should stop and thank the farmer, after all they had been well fed on "little boys" (small frankfurters) and mugs of tea.
The farmer appreciated his gratitude, not like the next outlanding a few days later. The farmer's wife answered Simons knock on the door at 11 o'clock at night, fresh from the shower, in a see through nightie .... BUT THAT IS ANOTHER STORY.