Back on the Job

Joyce and I got the air carrier started about 1985, more or less. Getting started is tough. When do you actually get started? When you sign the necessary (and many) papers? When the bank puts the money in your account? When that first paying charter shows up? When...? You get the idea.

Anyway you get the idea. We were off and running. Well maybe stumbling along might be a better term. We started off with two airplanes, neither of which was a King Air. We did have a Cessna 182 and a Beech Baron. Neither was luxury equipped, but both were IFR capable. But then again, neither was set up for flight into known icing conditions. We had one part time employee pilot. Very part time. He wasn't needed a whole lot at first.

And I had (still have) a tattoo on my back, "Will you kiss me before I die Johnny?" Joyce never asked about it, and I've never talked about it either. I'll know it's there every day until I die.

ENOUGH!!

All that was a long time ago now. This is today.

I picked up my charter in Laconia New Hampshire after doing the weekly Baltimore run. Are you familiar with Laconia? It used to be the site of a famous bike race and weekend in general Now it's more organized and respectable.

Back when Harrison and I raced the sidecar rig there things were a little wild and wooly I guess. Party like H... all night and ride the same way during the day. When you're young you can do that I guess.

I'm off the ground and you can see the gear just before they tuck away for the two hour flight to Washington NC.

My charter is a motorcycle collector and hobbyist. Yes, he's one of those tech multi-millionaires and likes the old time bikes. Not the bikes from my days in the 60's & 70's, but way back in the really old days. Think teens, twenties, and thirties.

He's on the way south to check out one of those semi-mystical "barn finds". You know what I mean, the car (or bike) that was pushed aside when the owner moves on, grows up, dies or something. Barn finds do exist and finds are still being made almost weekly. This one is supposed to be a Flying Merkel motorcycle. You can find some excellent images of the Flying Merkel here.

In the shot above we're just clearing the extreme southern tip of what is known as the Delmarva Peninsula. Delaware/Maryland/virginia that is. We're over VA in the shot.

In this one, taken a minute or so later, we're over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel connecting the Hampton Roads/Norfolk area to Eastern Shore. Another fun ride by bike or car.

Another shot of the Norfolk/ Hampton Roads area. There is a definite Navy presence here and we in Eastern WV often find fighters practicing contour flying over the Greenbrier River and surrounding countryside.

Ahh, here we are. 500ft annunciator has just sounded. Full flaps and start pulling back on the throttles. If I time this just right I'll be at the throttle stops a very few seconds before touching down.

I gotta smile on this one. It came out nicely thank you very much.

My charter is on his way to check out the hoped for toy. If things work out I'll have the charter back north too. And some awkwardly shaped packing and stowing to take care of.

Where We Came From. Who We Are. Part V

This flight is from Marble Canyon AZ to Mesquite NV and was flown back in 1985 or so. I just found the picture folder from that time.

Back in something like 1985 I was working for a small charter service in Albuquerque New Mexico. I had done a few flights for some jack leg lawyer named Saul Goodman--if you lived out that way back then you couldn't miss his really tacky TV commercials--and about that time I got to thinking about hanging up the high & wild life. Marla was gone, she was three or four, well maybe five or six, women back. My first wife had left and we'd gotten a reasonably amiable divorce and I'd met a woman named Joyce, who was..well...different from the others.

I'd been down the road with flying drugs and whatever else the cartel group I would later find out was a CIA front wanted flown to (?).

Along with El Segundo I'd crash landed a DC-3 loaded with 4 1/2 tons of prime Colombian marijuana in the New Mexico desert and watched in amazement as El Segundo doused the whole thing with avgas and set fire to it.

I've still got a limp and a metal plate (or two) in my left leg from that adventure. I can forecast the weather by the way that leg feels at times. Winters are sometimes uncomfortable and as I get older it seems to get worse.

I'd even sat helplessly and watched a guy take a dive from 200 feet above the ocean so that the wounded Cessna 182 I was flying would limp along long enough to get his crying and nearly hysterically family to safety.

He was a political prisoner of an extremely corrupt Central American government who had escaped and who the CIA wanted transported to safety. Didn't quite work out like the CIA wanted.

I'd even found myself flying in Southeast Asia for a while and still try to forget a lot of what went on there around the time of Khmer Rouge.

When I drink too much I remember the woman who said "will you kiss me before I die Johnny?" Or maybe I drink too much when I remember her. Joyce helps me then.

I'd made a nice pile of money. I didn't spend it all either, unlike most of the guys I flew with. Because of the way our payments were set up, most of it was clean and clear with the IRS. For some reason a lot of the ways that money gets burned up never appealed to me. Believe it or not, I was known as a quiet and homebody type guy, not the one to invite to all the weekends that are better off forgotten about.

I flew airplanes. For better or worse, that's what I did--fly airplanes.

One thing about West Virginians, they all want to go home. There's a joke about St Peter showing a new arrival around Heaven and they come to a gated and fenced area. The gate is heavily locked. When asked why, St Peter says "that's where we keep the West Virginians. The new arrival asks why and St Peter replies "if we don't lock them in, they all go back home."

I guess I was getting older and now I wanted to go home. And I got to thinking about starting a little flying service of my own.

The shot above shows me starting my downwind leg at Mesquite for a visual landing. This is a view of the long taxi in. Below is a shot just prior to shutting down.

I think I was ready to head home to West Virginia. Now all I have to do is sell Joyce on the idea.

Where We Came From. Who We Are. Part IV.I

The pictured flight was from KGCN (Grand Canyon Nat'l Park) to KHND (Henderson Exec Las Vegas NV) and featured a vicious and gusty X-wind at the landing. The OAT at HND at landing was 36*C. For the uninitiated that converts to about 98*F. The Cessna is un-airconditioned.

This is a continuation of my post begun below. Here's a link.

I was left at _________ airport, 250 miles from Miami and told "we may be in touch". What I didn't mention was that it was 3:50a.m. and raining. And every door I could find was locked. I crawled under the wing of a waiting Cessna 310, folded my jacket into something resembling a pillow and went promptly to sleep. About 6:30 I rolled over, the rain had stopped, and an alligator was coming slowly my way and was only about 20 feet away. It seemed closer at the time. I found my way to the perimeter fence and climbed over--remember, in the late 60's airport security was not like it is now--and was on my way back to Miami, riding my thumb.

I got back to town by late afternoon, needing a shave and shower. Marla wasn't too impressed by the "whoevers" I was flying for.

I got cleaned up and about the time I sat down for supper the phone rang and the voice said "Senor, we would like you to fly for us a package." "I'm tired and need some time off to recover. In case you didn't notice, you or your employees left me a long way from home in the rain at night without the offer of a ride home. "I'm very sorry for that Senor, but that is to be expected at times. We need a pilot to fly a package and we need him now. Are you interested in the job Senor?" "...Yeah, I'm interested. Where and when? "_______ Airport and in two hours. "See you then.

I looked at Marla and gave that kinda hang-dog grin I get sometimes.

"Ya basta!! You leave and I will not be here whenever you bother to get back!!

She was there when I got back.

So, long story shortened a little, I popped a little chemical stay awake help and off I went. By this time I was pretty sure I knew where this was heading but so far I hadn't done anything illegal so I figured I was still OK in the eyes of the rest of the world and I could get out anytime I wanted. Ain't that always the way.

I got to the ________ Airport as scheduled and was met by the guy I only knew as El Segundo, who handed me a package. The package weighed 44lbs, exactly. I know this because it was weighed carefully, twice, before being opened when I got to my destination and in my presence.

I guess I knew what was in the package right from the start but didn't think too much about it. A two hour flight, all domestic, and only state borders to cross. No customs.

So off I went in the regular King Air, just me and this 44lb package.

Two hours later I was on the ground at _______. I was met by an unsmiling and muscular guy with the usual gun slightly visible under the sport jacket. And the first thing out of his mouth was "you have opened the package mi amigo and are in very serious trouble indeed. (I hadn't) "No...I haven't. You are wrong. And I don't think I'm really your amigo hombre.

Well, long story shortened here, I got punched a couple of times. I'm not a hero and I'm not much of a fighter. Even less so when the guy opposite is 50 lbs heavier than me and very very fit.

I got my breath back slowly and when I could stand up fairly straight (it would be three more days before I stood really straight) I put my hands up and in plain sight and told the guy I was going to reach in my back pocket, get out my wallet and hand him a phone number I had been given along with the instructions: "You may need this number soon. Keep it and give it to whoever gives you concern. Give him the paper, do not just tell him the number. It would do you no good in that case."

The guy took (snatched more like) the paper, took me into a waiting office area and made his call. I wasn't offered a seat so I stood--rather more of a slump against the door frame I guess.

"He is here Jefe. The package has not been opened. Si Jefe. I will show him. No, he did not weaken. Thank you Jefe, I think so as well"

And the guy hung up the phone and turned to me, but this time with a smile and offered handshake. Oh and by the way, the offer of a healthy belt of Glenfiddich Scotch.

"Come Senor, let us see your delivery.

So we opened the 44lb package and I got a laugh when my muscular friend showed me the contents. 44lbs of the best Colombian...Criollo Chocolate.

"We may be in touch Senor, with a job offer this time. Congratulations, you passed the tests.

"What would have happened if I had opened the package? Armand (I later found out his name) sighed and said "Alas, then your time at this place would have been short and unhappy.

I flew the King Air back to Miami, got home before Marla left for work (see, I knew she wouldn't leave), got some sleep and then waited.

Several days later I got a call to be at ___________ airport at ________ p.m. This was where I got my job offer.

$5000 dollars U.S. every week, whether you fly or not. You will fly for no one else, no matter how much they offer. You will be ready to fly within two hours of our contacting you, day or night, seven days a week. If you are arrested make your phone call to this lawyer. Be sure you understand that, this lawyer only. You are ours until we release you or you die, and you can take that however you wish.

There were a few other provisos, but those are the main ones I guess. Like I said, the whole drug flying business started over a Gin game in Miami I guess.

Where We Came From. Who We Are. Part IV

The flight pictured here was from Big Bear City CA to Grand Canyon National Park AZ.

This log entry is part of an ongoing but irregularly posted series concerning the fictional foundations of GVA and my fictionalized past.

How do you get to be a drug pilot? It certainly isn't something you see advertized on a match book cover.

Are you even old enough to remember when a generous supply of paper book matches could be found on the counter of any convenience store or other place that sold cigarettes and cigars? The covers always contained printed advertising that usually said something like "earn big pay as an over the road truck driver" or "earn big pay as a certified underwater marine welder". The jobs were always blue collar and required some level of specialized training. The match book cover always included a phone number to call in order to "sign up right away and start earning".

A real world aside here: I have always been a compulsive collector. My collections have included maps (back when they were free), matchbooks and advertising buttons and badges like those you see every day at HARDEES and MacDonalds. My matchbook collection, taken from places I had visited on my bike and always displaying the name and address of the location where I had collected them once occupied several 8X12X6 deep plastic containers and weighed over three pounds.

I suppose my drug flying days started over a Gin Rummy game in Miami Florida...

At the time I was a free lance charter pilot, flying for whoever and wherever I could find an airplane for which I was qualified, and quite a few for which I wasn't.

The flying jobs were usually brief. The charter services often had their airplanes seized for non-payment of debt, or the owner would disappear just before payday with all the cash, or once in a while the DEA would move in, seize everything in sight and the hired help would be left stranded where they stood. In those cases we were glad to get off with what little cash we had saved and the clothes on our backs.

I was on the ground for quite some time in south Florida and managed to make an uneven but profitable living playing money Bridge, Gin Rummy or even moderately high stakes poker. In a few circles I was kind of the "go to guy" when a fourth was needed for money Bridge or Gin Rummy.

And truth to tell, if some of the middle aged matrons (those in the 40-60 age group) were in need of an escort or companion for the afternoon, we could usually make an arrangement satisfactory to both parties. You would be shocked by the number of "respectable" ladies who felt that membership in the Mile High Club was not only fun but absolutely mandatory.

I had gotten involved in a regular Gin game with a group of Mexican gentlemen at a club in downtown Miami and happened to hear two players talking about needing to fly from here to there and that their regular pilot had quit his job. I also knew their pilot from my time at Miami Exec and even the King Air the Mexicans used regularly.

So, long story shortened a bit, I waited until one of the gentlemen excused himself to go the necessary facilities. I excused myself briefly from my game and headed for the same room.

After performing the necessary functions I introduced myself and offered my pilotage services if and when needed. I also mentioned that many at Miami Exec could offer their commentary as to my flying qualifications and fitness.

I was given a long stare and the brief comment "We shall see".

The next day I received a brief phone message, "Be at Miami exec at 9:50 a.m. ready to fly", followed by the dial tone.

I hustled up, got cleaned up and arrived at Miami Exec as directed. I was met by another Mexican who came to be known to me only as "El Segundo" (number two). We ended up doing a lot of flying together in the coming days & months. It would be several years before I learned that he (and most of the people I would be working for) were actually a front for an illegal program the CIA was using to finance some of their own highly illegal operations using drug cartel money. In other words, the CIA was involved in drug smuggling and sales as a profit making scheme.

I was told we would be flying from "here to there" and were to leave right away. And that's where we hit our first snag-- I thought.

"Wait a moment my friend, this airplane isn't going anywhere with me on board until we do a proper walk around, I personally check the mechanical reports file and make sure all other paper work in in order. With all due respect sir, I don't know anything about you or this airplane."

My Mexican employer drew himself up, took a deep breath and said "good, you have passed your first test. My employers are important people, muy importante indeed and no one, no one flies for us unless he is an expert and careful pilot."

So, we did our flight. I was paid in cash on the spot and told "we may be in touch". And that was it for a week.

Then I began receiving calls at crazy hours "be at ____ airport ready to fly", followed by a dial tone. I suppose this was a testing period of sorts, and evidently I was passing my tests. I was always paid in cash, more cash than just simple flying would normally bring and told "we may be in touch".

I had begun to get the idea that what we were doing was not strictly legal and I suppose I could have pulled the plug on the whole thing at any time by simply saying "ya know, I don't like where this is going" and not accepting any more flights. But ya know, the money was good, I was a long way from home, and I was young.

When we got to the low flight I fully understood where this was heading.

The low flight. Ahh yes, the final exam I suppose. Maybe in more ways than one. I received the by now usual call "be at ____ airport at 1:27 a.m. ready to fly". So I turned up at the airport in question at the hour in question and was again met by El Segundo and off we went in the by now familiar King Air.

Except I was then given the instructions "fly heading _____, descend to within 50 feet of the sea, turn off all lights, radios, and transponders and fly until directed otherwise". And it was the dark of the moon.

I have to say one thing, El Segundo had nerves of steel. He never flinched once. I sure did. We skimmed the surface for 45 minutes. I saw us flash over the coast and head over the Everglades. Finally I was told, climb to 150 feet, fly heading ________ and in 27 minutes return all lights etc to normal position, call for landing clearance at ________airport but do not land there. Land on the coastal road instead.

So I climbed, lit up the aircraft, made my radio call, landed and was told "we may be in touch". And was left to hitch a ride back to Miami, 250 miles away.

To be continued