It must be difficult for
pilots from different cultures to learn the characteristics and eccentricities
of another country. I felt for the Japanese military pilot who wanted to fly in
Australia. He had great difficulty navigating in hilly country and used to go
way off track to remain clear of towns and hills instead of just climbing up
over them. He was forever getting lost. I suppose that anyone who was previously
a navy aviator and had never flown much over land would tend to have that
problem, as there weren't too many whales or aircraft carriers in them there
hills. At least I got to see some of the countryside.
Nobu was a likeable lad from
always wearing white sandshoes with Mickey Mouse emblems and blue dungarees with
braces as he mixed with the jeans, boots, big hats and ornamental belts of the
would be student mustering pilots.
He was different in public
for reasons out of his control. Being always helpful, polite and highly
intelligent didn’t fit in with someone who unfortunately managed to wreck a
number of company and friend’s push bikes by using his feet to rub on the front
tyre to make it
stop. How he managed to repeatedly damage his foot by catching it in the front
wheel followed by the subsequent locking up of the front wheel, bending the
spokes and rim before catapulting him over the handle bars, escapes us. We
couldn’t do it if we tried – he sure was talented in this type of manoeuvre.
He managed to do even more
damage down at Myles’ hanger in Caboolture after he passed his Commercial
Helicopter Pilot licence. His, until then,
unknown and unrecognised high level athletic skills and prowess became apparent
to everyone when the boys organised the surprise “pregnant” (pillow up her
jumper) stripper to treat Nobu on his birthday. When she first came roaring into
the hanger pointing to her midriff and shouting out words to the effect “where’s
that flaming Nobu who caused this – he’s going to pay or marry me” etc – the
look on his virgin face was said to have more expression of shock than the male dog
seeing the vet come with some huge, sharp snippers.
The 30 or so “boys” who had
“accidentally” for some unknown reason come to the wrong hanger for some
helicopter parts – were amazed at his skill in jumping up and hiding on the
mezzanine floor above the administration office. They clapped and cheered at
this remarkable lad. The coup de grace was his class act of impersonating a
computer when he fell through the office roof on top of a young lady below.
Australia is an ancient
continent. It’s difficult enough for the
locals to properly pronounce some of the indigenous place names in our local
area without the difficulty of having English as a second language.
Nobu was a great pilot –
diligent and hardworking – he progressed well and then it came time for his solo
Caloundra and Noosa came out
OK, but the main control zone up the road – Maroochydore and a town to the west
– Nambour - locked up his tongue while he was trying valiantly to pronounce them. He
practiced his call signs over and over until he felt it was all OK. He flew the
route with Sandy as instructor and it went well.
So off Nobu went on his first
NAV. Evidently his tongue went well, right up until the stressful point where he had to tell
the airspace controller that he was at Nambour at 1,500 ft inbound for over flying Maroochydore
and then wanting to track for Caloundra via Mooloolaba beach and needed permission to
enter the control zone.
The transcript from the
control tower went like this (imagine a very patient controller who almost loses it due
frustration, as lots of passenger jets were stacking up due the air waves being saturated
very lengthy radio
transmission as he
tried to communicate with a tongue lock up!):
“Helicopter Foxtrot hotel
Delta, this is Maroochy Tower. That was the best, most detailed and longest
radio call I have ever heard. BUT……………Where the Bloody Hell Are YOU!!!!!).
Nobu made it back to
Caloundra, so they must have come to some agreement on location names. He did