Time for a little aviation poetry

[tradford]

N82222

It wasn’t surprising, on that blustery night,
that the pattern was empty – not a flier in sight.

The weather was sucky and the lights at full watts,
with the wind at 250, blowing 38 knots.

The beacon was flashing and the ATIS was stating –
“if you’re coming in here – have an instrument rating”.

That even with gauges and slope-lights to boot –
attempting a landing was less than astute.

The man in the tower was as bored as could be,
reading Facebook and Twitter on his Galaxy-3.

When all of a sudden, from out of the blue,
came a drawl, “Gwinnett tower – eight two triple two”.

He knew of the numbers – he’d heard them before,
having cleared her for landings and departures galore.

Was a Robinson chopper with time on the Hobbs –
just a little old Beta that had logged a few jobs.

The controller, though startled, acknowledged the call,
said “I’m six to the north and just passing the mall”.

“I’m inbound for Yankee, then on to the ramp –
got to get in the hanger ‘cause she’s getting real damp”.

The doors weren’t attached and the seats were both soggy –
she was taking on weight and the windshield was foggy”.

But the man in the tower wasn’t sharing his pain –
he was clearly undaunted by the clouds, wind and rain.

“The field here is Delta and you know the rules,
we are well below mins and you ain’t got the tools!”

“Head east on to Winder, it’s only Class E,
you can scud your way over – just don’t hit a tree.”

The pilot was testy – wasn’t willing to pass,
said “I need special clearance, ‘cause I’m real low on gas!”

By now, the Controller was taken aback
when he sensed that the pilot was on the attack.

He changed his demeanor and cleared him to land,
“there’s a squall-line approaching, things will get out of hand”.

“The ceiling’s just touching our old water tower
and the wind’s really strong – better pour on the power!”

“Copy that, tower and thanks for the clue,
but I’ve logged a few hours and I know what to do.

She was coming in hot with the wind at the rear,
till she swung base to final, having got the “all clear”.

With all the momentum a Beta could grace,
she dropped onto Yankee like a rocket from space.

He slowed to a hover then turned to the right,
while the wind at an angle made her put up a fight.

The tail boom was swinging about 40 degrees,
as the tail rotor whined like a box full of bees.

Out on the tarmac, a lone dolly stood
with a minimal surface of unpainted wood.

While pumping the petals and cyclic in hand,
he lowered collective and attempted to land.

But pendulum-action from turbulent wind
made landing much harder than it ever had been.

He flashed back to footage he’d seen on TV
of a tuna-boat landing on a violent sea.

He kept making passes ‘till he nailed it just right
and the skids were aligned with that pale-yellow stripe.

He shut down the rotors and ran for the cart,
then he treated that Beta like a fine piece of art.

He sopped up the water with a towel from his bag
and wiped down the seats with a clean cotton rag.

In time she was shining so no one could tell,
with a minor exception – that locker room smell.

The pine tree that hung in the cab of his Ram –
he attached to the compass for much needed glam.

A snap of the seat-belt and slap on her tail,
he thanked the old Beta for having prevailed.

He left her there parked by an R44,
then he flipped off the lights and he lowered the door.

A post here on Facebook is proof that it’s true –
just a stormy night landing into KLZU.