The trip from VRD in the Northern
Territory to Maggieville station up
in the Gulf country of Queensland
was long and cramped.
Muz, me, Jim P as the happy go lucky
smiley pilot, survival gear,
toolboxes, our personal gear for a
few days in the bush, full fuel
tanks and a heavy complete Lycoming
TVO435 helicopter engine were
probably the reasons why the
Cherokee six flew in a nose up
attitude at 95 Kts using a mob of
power until we burnt a couple of
hours fuel off. Or maybe the centre
of gravity was out because big Muz
ate a huge breakfast and we made him
sit in the back because of the
gurgles, rumbles and other
indescribable noises he made.
M T had just set up his Gulf
Helicopters Company by purchasing a
mob of machines and work from JW’s
Helimuster operation. Quite a
character, MT became a legend for
his exploits in his grey G5A
helicopter and the World knew of him
through the Playboy magazine
interview and photos of him in his
prized crocodile skin boots. I think
he was wearing more than his boots
in the photos but can’t guarantee
it! A survivor, MT later was a bit
crook for a while after he took a
helicopter main Rotor transmission
on the back of his helmet when a
rotor blade hit a tree and the
helicopter violently disintegrated
around him. He still wears those
boots every day!
The AugustaBell 47 G3B1 was built
under licence in Italy for the
Italian Defence force and, except
for a thicker and slightly different
shaped Perspex bubble with a small
hole for an outside temperature
gauge high up in front of the pilot,
was basically similar to the other
USA machines we flew at the time.
That hole was to be my nemesis.
MT loaded up his machine with big
Muz inside while the toolboxes and
all our gear were piled onto his
external cargo racks. It looked like
a Peruvian bus. We had just spent a
couple of days in the open scrub up
north from Esscott station changing
the blown engine in one of his AB47
G3B1machines. No lifting rigs, no
nothing except using another
helicopter to hover and lift out and
precisely replace all the vital
components. Its rotor wash also kept
us cool, blew away the mozzies and
midges and was our only way out of
the swamp.
I had already previously ground run
and hovered the newly engined 3B1,
so gave MT the thumbs up (the VHF
wasn’t working) and away we went
heading for Esscott. MT knew the
area well and I was supposed to
follow him on his left side so he
could keep an eye on me.
10 minutes out at about 250 Ft AGL
and I noticed that the engine oil
temp was creeping into the high
range and the oil pressure was
heading south, but still in the
green. As the main rotor
transmission received its
lubrication from the pre-heated
engine oil, I flicked the dual temp
gauge switch to indicate the
transmission temp – it was nudging
the red line. “Bugga” I thought,
“there’s no where to land so I’ll
knock the engine power back a bit
and cruise at 41 kts - the 3B1’s
most efficient low power speed.”
Just then MT decided to dive down to
his right into the winding tidal
creek we had been following and skim
the water – probably to give Muz a
fun ride. They didn’t know that I
had a problem with my machine and
that I was looking and hoping to find a
place to land real soon. Rather than
increase the engine power, I decided
to convert my altitude to airspeed
to catch up with MT and indicate I
had an urgent need to land once I
got along side of him.
I didn’t make it.
Down to about 50 Ft above the
Mangrove trees at 70 kts on the left
bank of the creek, about 50 yards
back from MT at his 7 o’clock, I
noticed the oil temp gauge flick up
another ten degrees past the
redline. I lent down to tap the oil
pressure gauge to check it was
indicating a reliable reading and
also change the oil temp to show me
what temp the engine was running at
as my options were now narrowing
second by second.
I remember a big bang and something
impacting hard on the side of my face and
helmet. Things went a bit grey for
what seemed like forever and even
when I started to come to and react
to the ground coming up, everything
seemed to happen in slow motion.
I was lucky and put down on a dusty
little cattle camp beside the
mangroves. I still couldn’t see too
good thru my left eye but the red
hazy view thru the dust and blood
was interesting. The Perspex bubble
had broken into huge flapping shards
ending about 6 inches from my face.
My helmet was damaged and I had some
small cuts on my face and neck.
Thank my lucky stars I was looking
down when the event occurred.
Flummoxed, I wondered what had
happened until I heard a noise
coming from in front of me down by
the Tail Rotor control pedals.
With a loud quack and before I could
groggily release my full seat belt
harness and grab it, the duck which MT had
scared out of the creek and then
impacted right on the weak point of
the bubble – the hole for the outside air temp
gauge - scrambled to its feet (from
were it has bounced off me and then
got hurled down into the bottom of
the chin bubble in front of the tail
rotor pedals) and
flew out of the hole where the
bubble has been.
I felt that MT knew or had a
premonition of what happened
and that he had a fright when he turned to
see where I had got to and saw the
dust coming up, however I’m sure
that to this day JW still doesn’t
believe both of us that I was out for a duck.
Here's Muz in another place,
at another time, changing a blown
3B1 engine in the scrub. Look
carefully - the brakes on tractor
weren't working so Muz had the guy
at the other end using the digger
shovel as a brake and stabilisor by
jamming it into the ground whenever
Muz called out to him - What a
Guy!!
True Story
TCdy)
