A Natural Pilot -

“We climbed into the cockpit as it started to rain quite heavily and soon it began to pour. It was just possible to distinguish Benjy, on his camel, disappearing among the hills on the other side of the ‘strip. It became obvious that, if we didn’t move, the Dove would become bogged where it stood and we would be marooned there. The idea of a forced sojourn on the Mount Hart airstrip was not acceptable to either of us.

Ken was an ex-Air Force pilot and had logged thousands of hours. He was a natural pilot: he and the aircraft seemed to be one. With Stewart flying, the gauges might be anywhere, but it was an amazing truth that the aircraft was always in the right spot and attitude at the right time, and that, when the chips were down, everything was done professionally, skilfully and with precision. He appeared casual in every situation but beneath that casual image, he was a truly great pilot.

Despite the rain, we decided to take off. As we taxied to the end of the ‘strip we could feel the stickiness and more than usual power was needed to keep us rolling. The rain was coming down in solid sheets; the windscreen wipers were working to their fullest capacity. Even so, as we lined up at the end of the ‘strip, you couldn’t see the range at the other end, or, for that matter, the range on any side. Some water started dripping into the cockpit.

Ken did the take off check, then the engines were roaring and we were gathering speed down the muddy little ‘strip. Suddenly there was a loud cracking noise and a shower of sparks accompanied by a cloud of smoke burst out from under the instrument panel… and both the windscreen wipers stopped working. Immediately the windscreen went opaque and we were hurtling blindly towards the Leopold Range. The cockpit was filling rapidly with smoke while a red glow was forming behind the instrument panel. Without thinking, and almost as a reflex, I grabbed the fire extinguisher from under my seat and was about to press the plunger when a slow gravelly voice from the left said, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The whole bloody thing might stop.’

In some amazement I gazed at Stewart sitting there complacently and completely unconcerned that the aircraft was on fire, that the cockpit was full of smoke, that we were doing a totally blind take-off on a short ‘strip with a range rising a thousand feet at the business end, that it was puring with rain, and we were being buffeted now and then by quite strong wind squalls.

Almost nonchalantly he eased the stick back, raised the cart and the flaps and, as the craft accelerated now that we were clear of the ground, the curtain of rain was swept aside. The windscreen cleared and we could see the slope of the range in front of us.

We did a climbing turn and soon were were flying at five thousand, and then Ken said in the same lazy drawl as before, ‘I S’pose we’d better put out that fire now.’ And he shoved his great hand up behind the panel, gave a yank and pulled out a fistful of wires. The red glow stopped and a fistful of charcoal fell between my shoes, but the fire was out.”

From ‘Legend of the Kimberley’ by Lawson and Janet Holman. Hesperian Press.

Sadly this wonderful book is out of print but if you get the chance to buy a second hand copy, I highly recommend it as a source of some wonderful West Aussie folklore.

Ken Stewart - A Natural Pilot

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