Diane
Redpath, Surrey, England
We are the Redpath family in Surrey. We are very interested in
finding out lost relatives. I have two brothers, Tery and Gary and one
sister Michelle. Our father's name is Walter Thomas. He was
the twin of Bert and had another brother called Cyril. Anyone who
can help us find our lost relatives please contact acredpath@hotmail.com
Maria Reidpath and Family West Virginia, USA
Maria Reidpath here. I have been meaning to send you pictures of our
family in case you want to include them in the webpage. The names
connected with attached pictures are:
Davis Alberto Reidpath, age 21 on the left and Hilson Glen Reidpath, age 14 on the right
Charles Decker Reidpath II, age 10 on the left and Rhett
William Reidpath, age 12 on the right.
Blackee Reidpath, age 8 (the only girl in the family)
Timothy Ridpath, Ridpath Aviation, Lubbock, Texas,
USA.
Night Golf in a Grumman
Yankie?
Here is some info along w/story of a real event. I hope you all enjoy
it. I didn't, but am enjoying sharing it with you all.
I was a young pilot flying a customers airplane of a make and
model I had never flown before. On
New Years Eve with my very good friend, Carol, as my passenger in a
two-place Grumman American Yankee, we were off to Ruidoso, New Mexico
for a party and some skiing with other friends. I wondered why I couldnt see the airport.
This incident happened
before the present airport was constructed. Ruidosos airport (elevation 6,911
ft.) was sort of buried between mountains less than a mile
north-northeast of the 7-11 store. I
knew that, because I had not only flown into the airport, but also had
driven, and walked back to it from the friendly 7-11 store. I turned the small bird back east for a few miles then turned
west following the highway into town.
Okay, I thought, theres Ruidoso Downs, and
right
theres the 7-11
a right turn up that road
another
right
then left, but where is the airport?? I know its right down there!
Right there in that black hole!!
I
tried several times to contact someone on the Unicom frequency, but
silence was the only reply. I
wonder if they have electronic runway lights? Of course they have electronic lights, Tim. What were you
expecting? Lanterns?
Just click the mike seven times in five seconds on their
frequency and the lights will illuminate like a Christmas tree.
Then you land the plane. Youve
got a New Years Eve party waiting to welcome you and the lovely
Carol., I mused to myself.
I
began circling round and round over what I thought was surely my
airport, at least where I thought it should be.
As butterflies began a convention in my stomach, and my
impatience helped not in the least, I began to have some doubt.
Attempting to dispel it, I thought, After all, theres a New
Years Eve party to welcome the lovely Carol and me!
Carol is enjoying the flight so far and is looking for the runway
lights too. Now and then
she would lean against me and tug on my arm, then point out one set of
lights or another, any illumination, it seemed.
She really enjoys flying so far, but for me?
My joy was diminishing. The
sky is clear and crisp, moon very bright, a zillion stars, smooth air
and a beautiful girl. What
else could any teenager want?, I thought, with a smidgen of
trepidation, as I turned the little bird east toward the city of
Roswell.
The
highway between Roswell and Ruidoso is the only East-West highway for
maybe a hundred miles, and especially easy to navigate with all the
holiday traffic. However,
beyond the edges of the highway there was only darkness.
After several miles, I turned back west following the highway
while thinking, 7-11
right turn
the road is really hard to see,
but its still visible
there
it turns right
about right there is
where there should be a turn to the left, but I cant see
it
and
no airport. The
mike clicking, there I was
circling and clicking
circling and
clicking
nothing.
I
had seen a lighted runway south of the highway a few miles back and
decided to go back and land there, I did so only to discover there was
no one there. During our take-off roll the runway lights went off. I was
confused. I discovered later that this airport was a private airport and
that a King Air had departed prior to my arrival.
I
turned west toward Ruidoso to find the illusive destination again, but
again it could not be found.
Carol,
we will just have to go to Roswell and call someone to pick us up.
There must be some problem with the runway lights., I said.
Okay.,
she replied while I thought, She is such a nice girl.
Shes really enjoying this.
Everything is just fine. Ill
head east now. There is no
reason to call the Flight Service Station to change the destination on
our flight plan, because were not on one.
I didnt file
You
see, earlier this day, I had talked to a specialist at the Lubbock
Flight Service Station. The
weather all over was clear with visibility unlimited and forecast to
stay that way. The briefer asked me what time I expected to depart and I
told him I didnt know yet.
Do
you want to file a flight plan? he queried.
No,
not right now. Ill get
back with you and file., I said in my best aviators voice.
I really didnt know exactly when.
Just whenever Carol got to the airport.
I would file then, I thought.
With
Carols very late arrival and my impatience, I didnt call Flight
Service back. Also, in my
haste, I didnt check the Airmans Information manual.
If I had, I would have discovered Ruidoso had no runway lights.
I
said, Carol, if you had showed up on time we would already be at the
party!, to which she did not reply.
As
I was doing normal instrument panel cross checking, everything looked
alright except for the first time, I discovered I didnt see the fuel
gauges. They werent anywhere on the panel to be found!
Without causing alarm, I began my search; but, to my dismay, they
just were not anywhere I could see!
But, they have to be somewhere!, I thought.
I took out my pen-light and started looking further than the
instrument panel, without explaining my actions to Carol.
When she asked what I was doing, I nonchalantly replied that I
was just looking around because I thought Id dropped something.
I
knew I had left with full tanks, because I had fueled the bird myself.
Which is why it was hard to contain my surprise when I did find
the gauges, because those little balls were jiggling in the red, down
there in the wing root!
Looking
ahead toward Roswell I remembered what the terrain was like underneath
us. It was terrain you would not want to put an airplane down on
even in the daytime, much less at night dead stick. Can I make Roswell? Do
I have enough fuel? What do
I do, go Back?, I asked myself.
So many questions, so little time.
Maybe
I clicked on the wrong frequency, maybe its seven clicks in five
seconds, or was it four clicks in five seconds, maybe five, or in
God!
I made a one-eighty turn.
The heck with this, Im going to find that airport!
I know where it is. Ive
been into that airport dozens of times in the daylight.
Theres definitely no fuel for Roswell now.
Ive got to set this thing down now!
I remembered what appeared to be a plateau north of the airport,
a rectangular clearing bordered with trees.
Hmmm
I thought hopefully.
Once
again, circling over where the airport was supposed to be, I willed for
a miracle. I prayed the
illusive airport would appear and I would be able to land.
Carol would then tell everyone how really cool it all was. Flying
to the mountains for a New Years Eve party, then skiing for two days,
but the neatest part of the whole thing was flying in a private airplane
and, of course, she would mention how handsome her pilot boyfriend was.
Wouldnt she? How
smart he was??
That
didnt happen.
I
set up my final approach. Carb
heat, power pack 80 IAS, flaps and landing light on.
Oh yea, mixture rich. Sierra
Blanca Mountain was straight ahead, her elevation way up there at 12,000
feet maybe. Ruidosos
airport elevation is 6,911 feet and its in a hole.
North of the airport where I intend to land is maybe 7,100 feet. I talked myself through it, Looking
good
steady
telephone poles! Wires!
Full power! Climb!
Climb! Come on
Climb!! Dear Lord Jesus!
I muttered, Carb heat in, mixture!
Play with it, careful! Landing
light off.
At
least I was doing something right.
I hadnt forgotten the carburetor heat, the mixture and, of
course, shutting off that landing light.
One mustnt forget that
in an emergency go around, should one?
What have you gotten yourself into, Tim? Everything has gone wrong.
You and Carol were supposed to be sitting near a warm fire,
laughing with friends and drinking nasty tasting beer right now.
Not up here flying toward this dark ominous mountain before us!
Turn this thing around now and get on the ground quick!
I had left some flap down for lift and kept them there.
The air is so thin up here and Im so scared.
Keep control, Tim, hang in there. I thought almost
frantically.
Are
we going to be alright? Carol asked nervously.
Everythings
going to be just fine. I
dont know where that telephone pole came from.
Well make it this time. Its
alright., I said consolingly. I
calmed myself with my spoken reassurances to Carol.
We completed a 180 to the right while I prayed that the Gods of
Flight were on my side, and that Carols God was too.
I felt this was going to take a group effort.
We turned finally to land on the wide expanse of the plateau.
Again my mind raced, Carb heat, power back, mixture
not too
rich, 80 mph, full flaps. Dont
forget that landing light! Landing
light on
closer
closer
NO! A
Car! Turned onto my runway!
Power on, carb heat in! Mixture,
be careful, flaps, easy now. Oh
Dear God, please!. I
think I was talking outloud at this point.
The little bird just wouldnt fly, couldnt climb, only mush.
I was really scared now. With
the landing light, and the moon, I could tell we were well below the
tops of the trees at the end of my very short runway.
I was nursing the mixture control for power, searching for just
that right angle for climb. Come
on
come on
climb girl
climb.
At
least one tree uprooted itself to strike our left landing gear, taking
with it airspeed and life itself. Somehow,
we were still flying, but how? What
for? That we were flying
didnt mean anything anyway. We
were going to smash into Sierra Blanca and end up a red blob of
aluminum, our blood mixing with the red paint!
What have I done? Its
over. I said. Then I
released the yoke and put my hands in my lap.
My
mind resigned itself to the thought, Its
over
kaput
finished
theres nothing I can do.
But, another solitary thought in the form of my fathers voice
jerked me from my desolation, No matter what
maintain control of
the airplane! Maintain
control of the airplane no matter what!
My dad always said that! I
grabbed the yoke again and said with force to Carol and to all the Gods
who were present, Were putting this bird down this time no matter
what!, as I wiped what were probably not only sweat but tears from my
eyes.
We
were dangerously low. I
continued westerly, milking this little airplane for every little inch
of altitude she could get. I
began my turn. I rolled smoothly into what I could only hope was a climbing
right turn. The high
country to the north was a lot closer than last time.
I must have been on a more northerly latitude than my last try.
Steeper and steeper I banked.
Coming through near ninety degrees of turn with the aid of the
landing light that I had forgotten to turn off, I could see down through
the trees all the way to the ground! I pulled back on the yoke and steepened my bank even more.
The red stall light on the panel was intermittently flashing, the
horn screaming. We were
near 60 degrees of bank. A
shudder! Easy girl,
easy. I coaxed her through what was the most terrifying moment of my
short-lived flying career. We
made it! Flying eastbound
again on a highly modified right downwind leg.
I let out a big sigh of relief. I still get chill bumps wondering
how on earth we got through that turn.
By
this time, I had forgotten all about Carol.
My being was one with that little airplane, and now on a low
final approach, I was going to land.
Through telephone wires, on top of cars or ricocheted from
telephone poles, we were going to rest alive and safe on the ground, the
beloved earth. Final check
done, we touched down, rolled up a little hill that catapulted us back
into flight followed with another landing; another rise in the earth
causing us to fly once again. I
added a lot of power for our third and final landing.
I braked hard and we skidded to a stop.
I guess the little Yankee wanted three landings to even up the
approach tries.
*
*
*
*
*
This
might be a good place for the story to end, but it isnt the end of
the errors this pilots story has to reveal.
Take a deep breath with me as I continue to tell on myself to the
FAA, my mother and father, and of course to the other innocent one in
this saga, the customer whose airplane I had borrowed.
*
*
*
*
*
I
pushed the canopy back and Carol and I stepped on the wing walk and
walked away from the red rescued airplane as a pickup truck pulled up.
The late fortys man slowly sauntered up and said, Looks
like you kids could use a cup of coffee.
Come on to the house. Without
a word, we got into his truck. At
his home, I called our friends. I
didnt know what to say or where I was, so I just handed the phone to
the man. When we drove back to the little Yankee, I noticed we had
landed on a golf course. You
kids sure are lucky. I
thought for sure there was going to be a crash., our benevolent
friend remarked.
There
were several cars and a Sheriffs car at the scene.
Carol and I began unloading the airplane.
The airport manager walked up to see who the fool was that came
to these mountains to nearly kill themselves.
We recognized each other right away and without me saying a word,
he said, Ill talk to the Sheriff,.
He turned and walked away toward the officers car..
At this point, it sure seemed like there were a lot of people
around.
Then
Carol walked over to me and began tugging my arm.
They want to take our picture!, she said excitedly.
Pictures? I thought. Oh
no! Not pictures!
I could just see it plastered all over the front page of my
hometown newspaper. My dad!
Mom, bless her heart, the customer, and of course, the General
Aviation District Office. My
father would be really disappointed in me, my mother would chew me out,
and the customer
he would probably look at me with disgust.
My thoughts went to the extreme as I imagined the FAA would
snatch up my certificate and probably burn it on local television while
giving me a good bawling out, followed by handcuffing me and sending me
to prison!
No!
We cant have any pictures, Carol! I whispered to her.
The guy who this airplane belongs to mustnt find out!
I told the eager reporter, Pictures cannot be taken under any
circumstances. Just
then, my friend Randall, showed up from town and I quickly put our gear
in his car.
Carol
came up excitedly again and said, Tim!
They say youre a hero! They
said nobodys ever done this before and lived!
Come on please, Tim? They
really want to take your picture
and mine too, please?
I replied, Carol, I cant let this get back to Lubbock.
Theyll kill me. She persisted but I wouldnt budge. About that time, the airport manager motioned with his hand.
I took that as an indication to get out of there.
Carol, Randall, and I slipped away.
I could hide for a while.
*
*
*
*
*
What
are you going to do, Tim? The
FAA is probably on their way right now.
Boy, are you gonna get in trouble buddy!
Your history. Theres
no telling how many regs youve busted.
You know how thick that book of regulations is and you know you
dont really know them very well., I silently pondered.
Aloud, I said, Yes, I know.
What am I going to do? I
knew they were going to throw the book at me and I couldnt sort out
what to do, much less what to say.
I had to get that airplane off that mountain before the FAA got
there. I was so
scared I couldnt come up with any other part of the solution than
that.
Very
early New Years Day, Randall and a couple of friends and I drove up
the mountain. I looked over
my situation at Alto Golf Course now nicknamed Municipal Aerodome.
The airport thats on aeronautical charts is less than a mile
south of there with a long north-south runway.
I was right!, I congratulated myself, The airport was
exactly where I knew it and placed it.
See? See?
I knew I was right! I
knew what I was doing! I
wasnt lost!
With
some confidence restored, I began quickly preparing to get the little
red bird off that golf course and safely tucked away at a real airport. I did a quick walk-around a pre-flight inspection, paying
particular attention to the gear and prop.
Not finding anything wrong, I told my friends to push hard and
fast when I released the brakes. I wondered which tree jumped up and
swatted me a few hours earlier. Thats
far enough!, I shouted and then thought, This is going to work.
Only
three or four golfers were on the grounds; it was too cold and too early
for most people. There was
no take-off distance chart for this altitude in the little birds
manual. I was wondering
why? They must have made an
error in this manual for it to be missing.
Thats alright, I thought, Ill interpolate.
Ive learned to do that with winds aloft n stuff.
Confused and tired, but mostly scared of the FAA showing up, I
saw that interpolation couldnt be done properly either.
As
I was stepping off distance from the nose of the airplane, I carefully
inspected the grounds of my makeshift runway for suitability.
As I continued, I could see the two small hills that had
catapulted me into unwanted flight only a few hours earlier, and the
telephone pole that caused my first go around.
This ought to be enough, I said to myself.
When I turned around I couldnt see the airplane because of the
natural crown of the golf course. Id
have to add a few more feet to estimated take-off distance to allow for
having to roll uphill. Walking
back,
