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buy Lyrica online australiaOnce again, the Coffey family campsite served as “Chapter 25 Central” for transient Chapter members without a campsite of their own at this year’s Airventure. And, in the case of your Chapter President, an added bonus of a parking space convenient to the Airventure grounds. Sightings included Pat Halligan with some NWA pilot friends in tow and Ron Oehler visiting from his nearby campsite with former president Steve Beach (now in Witness Protection in another city as are many former presidents). Then there was Gary Rosch, Harvey Havir, Norm Tesmar, Peter Denny, Jim Ladwig — not to mention the annual sighting of Jeff Coffey himself. Jeff took out time from remaking the AOPA Website for the annual pilgrimage to the shores of Lake Winnebago. In the photo above, he waves the ceremonial first brat off the grill for Pat Halligan’s benefit.

by S. Steve Adkins

from On Final February 2006

Acknowledgement: My thanks to Chris Cooper whose counsel enabled me to receive my Third Class Medical Certificate.

For a number of years, I had noticed increasing discomfort when breathing cold air. Simply… my lungs hurt. I bought a couple of devices to warm the air including a simple dust mask. More recently, I experienced symptoms similar to being out of breath when hauling brush up a steep hill. I wrote it off to old age until the symptoms got more severe. Another clue of health problems was that my iceboating buddies seemed to think pain from cold air is unusual. Note: the only place you can find warnings about sensitivity to cold air is on the web.

After reporting these symptoms to my doctor, I was immediately put on four medications and sent to the Minnesota Heart Clinic. Diagnosis: Angina. Shortly after that, I was given a stress test accompanied by a heart echogram. Soon I was on the operating table where the surgeon was installing two stents in arteries that were 95% blocked. It is a painless procedure. You go home within 24 hours. where to buy Lyrica cream

by Gary Rosch

from On Final July 2005

This journey begins with the restoration of a 1950 Piper Pacer. It was a five and half year project that brought me closer to my Dad. He passed on his mechanical skills and we spent some quality time together.

In the spring of 2002 Dad suggested going to the big aviation event, Sun ‘n Fun in Lakeland , Florida. The trip was later cancelled because of his bladder cancer though we did not know about it yet at that time. The Pacer was completed in September and Dad had a couple of flights in it before he passed away the following February. If things had gone my way, Dad would have flown with me to Sun ‘n Fun in Lakeland, Florida. In the spring of 2005 I decided to go to Sun ‘n Fun; Dad would be with me in spirit.

As I made plans to go to Sun ‘n Fun I met another Piper Pacer owner who was also thinking of flying to Sun ‘n Fun – Scotty, who has the same year (1950) Piper Pacer as mine. The aircraft are both painted in the same colors and from a distance you would have difficulty distinguishing one from the other. Scotty’s aircraft is a perfect restoration. On my aircraft I can point out all the imperfections you would not even see. When people see my aircraft, they always say what a beautiful restoration. Scotty and I would fly together, in formation, down to Florida. This was an unexpected delight of the trip. It was great to have someone to talk to, watch out for me, advise me on where to go, how to get there, where to stop for fuel. This would be a different adventure in that I would have a wingman. Most of my life I’ve gone solo, “I’ve done it my way” as the song goes. It’s an American Male disease.

Scotty led in a quick low pass over a friend’s airstrip. Jim walked out on his deck with a cup of coffee in his hand to wave us off on our great adventure – life. As we took off I could see lighting flashes from the storms moving into the area behind us. I was glad that we had decided to leave two days earlier. We would switch off on who would lead the formation. When I was leading sometimes we would not talk to each other for extended periods of time. But it was always comforting to hear Scotty’s voice, knowing that he was watching out for me. Even when above some clouds and not able to see the ground, with our onboard GPS I could always know where I was. I really liked flying cross-country with a GPS.

Scotty and I had a radio frequency that we could talk to each other on. If I was leading I could not see him, but it was always comforting to hear his voice. Sometimes he would call to give an updated altimeter setting. As we were flying over the clouds I thought of the B-17’s that flew in formation in World War II and their fighter escorts. I’m sure those bombers really appreciated the company of their fighter escorts. Our first fuel stop was in Canton, IL there was a Bible verse on my fuel receipt, “With God all things are possible” Matthew 19:26. I would need that verse later in the day but after several hours I forgot about it.

Our second fuel stop was in Waverly, TN. We sat in a couple of rocking chairs on a beautiful late Sunday afternoon and had a little lunch. We decided to press on for another couple of hours of flying.

After another hour of flying, Scotty suddenly called over the radio that he was getting an airspace warning on his GPS. I checked my GPS and it was giving the same warning. I checked my aeronautical chart and quickly realized we were entering into a restricted area. I had seen it on the map earlier but had forgotten about it as the hour had passed. We quickly changed course and switched to an emergency frequency to see if someone was trying to contact us, but no one was. Checking the back of the aeronautical chart revealed that the restricted air space was not active on Sunday.

We decided to land and spend the night at Talladega, Alabama. As I flew over the airport and racetrack it looked perfect. There were plenty of camping spots; it even looked like there was some activity on the racetrack. We landed and set up our tents just as the sun was setting. Other than strong head winds that had slowed our progress, the weather had been good and we were more than halfway to Florida! We decided to walk over to the local Fixed Base Operator (FBO), which from the airport diagram looked to be about a mile away towards the racetrack. It was a beautiful warm evening as the stars came out and we called in to let our mechanic know the aircraft performed perfectly. We kept walking on but could not find the FBO. Soon we came across a guard shack. We asked the guard about where to get something to eat. He was new and did not know much other than some places too far to walk to, but his supervisor would be back soon.

The supervisor was not much help either other than suggesting heading the other direction for at least a couple of miles. It turned out that this was a test facility for Harley Davidson motorcycles, but no one suggested the use of a bike and we did not ask. So down the road we headed – a dark unlit road. We couldn’t see much; I thought I saw a dead rat on the road. We reached the first main highway, with nothing in sight other than a freeway off in the distance. We walked along the highway for a while, but still not even some lights that might suggest civilization. It looked like dinner was going to be dried turkey jerky and some grapes. Scotty had moreideas than me. He was going to make a non-emergency call to the local police station to see if a squad car might be close by that could give us a lift. No such luck as a couple of squad cars raced down the highway, their lights flashing. They probably never even saw us.

Then I spotted a sign. “All things are possible.” There was that verse that I had seen on my fuel slip earlier in the day. Just then a white vehicle came out from the Harley Davidson Test facility. I flagged the car down, hoping to ask the driver if he knew of a place to eat. Ted was a test engineer for Harley-Davidson on temporary assignment who said he’d give us a ride since he was looking for a place to eat as well.

The next morning we were up with the sunrise and quickly fueled the aircraft and skipped breakfast to get in the air and on our way to Florida. Once on our way southward as I was checking something inside the aircraft, my aircraft was turning ninety degrees to the right, heading out toward the Gulf of Mexico. Soon Scotty was calling out over the radio asking where I was heading. How similar to our life’s journey. Sometimes we drift off course – so subtle that we hardly notice. Before you know it you are way off course and lost.

Later on this leg of the journey, I was looking for a good refueling spot. Then Scotty calls over the radio about an airfield about one hundred miles ahead that might be good. I asked him how he found it and he replied that he had a look-ahead feature on his GPS. Boy, I like that GPS.

After refueling at Perry, Florida we headed out on the last leg of our journey to Sun ‘n Fun at Lakeland. After landing, it was a long taxi to the antique aircraft parking area, but we had arrived! Once we parked our aircraft we met Lou, a pilot from Fed-Ex who had a modified Piper Super Cub. Lou suggested we camp in a wooded area near our aircraft. It would be a welcome relief from the sun, wind and dust during the next few days.

The Journey Continues

I had a great time at Sun ‘n Fun meeting new friends, looking at all the aircraft and watching the air show every afternoon. I missed my Dad; he would have loved the time there. After several days it was time to think about the journey back home. Scotty would be flying back to Cincinnati, Ohio. I was planning to visit some friends along the way.

But first I felt I needed to find a place that would be by the ocean where I could relax for a day or two. I asked for God’s help in finding some spot. When I looked on my aeronautical chart it seemed to pop out from the map – Cedar Key, Florida. It was about one hundred miles northwest, an easy one-hour flight. Some friends had recommended this as a nice place to get away. The approach into Cedar Key confirmed it ­ this would be the perfect get-away.

After tying down my aircraft the Checker taxi showed up to give me a ride into town. Checking into my motel room, I then walked into town to get some lunch, relax, and check out the town. I walked around town and even rented a bike to explore more of the key. As the afternoon rolled on the wind began to increase and I figured it was typical sea breezes. Towards evening I started to get lonely. I was missing all my new friends and the evenings when we would get together for a social hour.

I called several friends and relatives that I might possibly visit on the way back and it sounded like some of them would be around. I also called my wife’s friend, Claire, from Tallahassee, Florida who had visited us several years back. Her son, James had been very interested in aircraft and they had taken a look at my aircraft when it was being restored in our garage. She has home and James was still very interested in aircraft and he would love to fly in my aircraft. It was set; I would leave Cedar Key in the morning for Tallahassee.

Now you need to know that I’m the kind of person who needs all my ducks in order. I want to know the plan ahead of time. I struggle sometimes with being spontaneous like calling one of my wife Pam’s friends out of the blue. But Claire said it was a God thing, her calendar, which is usually full, was empty for Friday. As evening approached though, the wind did not die down. I checked the weather channel and there was a tropical storm brewing off in the Atlantic and the winds were forecast to remain strong all day Friday, too strong to fly such a small aircraft as mine. I was getting nervous. James would be very disappointed if I could not make it; people were depending on me. But I prayed that God would calm the winds and give me courage and wisdom on whether to fly the next day.

The next morning I woke up early, the winds had died down and when I checked with the Flight Service Station the wind was supposed to pick up around 11 and blow until about 3. That would be ok to fly in the morning to Tallahassee and then take James, Claire and Emily up after school. It was a beautiful flight up to Tallahassee, but the field I had picked looked rather short with trees on both ends. After checking with the airport people they said just look out for the trees and power lines at the approach end of the runway.

Every thing went fine on the approach into Tallahassee Commercial airport. The little terminal building looked as it probably did back in the 50’s when a little airline flew out of there. Claire picked me up for lunch and later we picked the kids up from school before heading back out to the airport. The winds blew, but not so much that we could not go flying for little while.

To be continued next month…

Article and photos by Dan Carroll

from On Final April 2005

In last month’s newsletter, I wrote about the beginning of my trip with some friends to New Zealand and of my excitement and anticipation of flying a Cessna 206 in this small island country. Based out of Matt and Jo McCaughan’s Geordie Hill Station, we covered a lot of the South Island’s geography by air, and by the end of the trip all of us came home with great memories and lots of photos.

There were many parts of the trip that left indelible impressions, but one particular segment of the trip stands out from all the others. It was without question, one of the more challenging flying experiences of the trip that I’d like to share with you, particularly a visit to the Croydon Aircraft Co. restoration facility located on a small grass airstrip in Mandeville and our flight from Stewart Island to Milford Sound.

At the beginning of the second week of our adventure, we were scheduled out early one morning for an over night trip to Stewart Island, which is just off the southern tip of New Zealand’s South Island. The itinerary was uncomplicated. The planned routing for the first day was simply to leave Geordie Hill, head south down the Lindis Valley toward Cromwell and then along the Garvy Mountain Range, pick up the Mataura River and then southeast to our first stop, Old Mandeville Airfield. From there we would make a short hop to Gore for fuel and then head south to Invercargill and then cross the Foveau Straits to Stewart Island.

During breakfast that morning there was some chatter about the weather and the routing through the mountains down to Mandeville. After the first week of flying I was beginning to feel fairly comfortable with the airplane and flying the narrow valleys and the mountain contours. But calling the local Flight Service Station (FSS) for a weather and route briefing wasn’t an option. Weather services in New Zealand are a subscription service that can only be accessed by computer. Since Matt had the only computer, I had to rely on his evaluation of the weather and trust his judgment.

The launch this particular morning looked like a “go”, and Matt said that the weather for the next two days didn’t seem to be a problem. He wasn’t sure if we could make it through the valleys along the Garvy Mountain Range, but there was an alternative route to the east. Now all we had to do is preflight and get in the air.

The flight down to Mandeville was uneventful and the winds were light, which gave me a chance to really take in the spectacular scenery. We made an approach to the west at the Old Mandeville Airfield and landed on one highly m a n i c u r e d grass strip. We had the field to ourselves and taxied right up t o wh a t looked like a small cluster of World War I vintage hangars, replete with rose bushes in full bloom along the side of the hangar. The setting could easily have been used for shooting the Errol Flynn movie, “The Dawn Patrol”.

The Croydon Aircraft Co. is a small operation owned and operated by Colin Smith. Croydon is apparently well known for its restoration of DeHavilland Moths and other DeHavilland aircraft models of an early vintage. To our delight, the hangars were filled with a variety of DeHavilland airframes, Gypsy engines and props and tooling to match.

Some of the airplanes were at various stages of restoration, but the bulk of the inventories were completely restored and airworthy. There were Chipmunks (DHC1), a Puss Moth (DH80A), several Tiger Moths (DH82A), a Fox Moth (DH83), a Leopard Moth (DH85), a Horn et Mo t h (DH87B), a Dragon Rapide (DH89B), a D r a g o n f l y (DH90), a Moth Minor (DH94), an original all wood 1934 Comet (DH88) used in the London to Sydney Air Race. There was a Simmonds Spartan and the real odd duck amongst them, a nearly completed restoration of a Beech D17 Staggerwing. (The latter is being restored for its U.S. owner who apparently plans on flying it home to Reno, the long way home, i.e., around the world.) Colin was also close to finishing a replica of a Pither 1910 Monoplane (it looks something like a Bleriot).

The few hours that we spent at the Croydon facility were a pure delight. Unfortunately we had places to go and had to make Stewart Island before nightfall.

The winds had kicked up by the time we departed Old Mandeville Airfield and I was grateful to have an extremely wide grass strip for takeoff in a strong crosswind. We made a short stop at Gore, another grass strip about 15 miles from Old Mandeville, for fuel. Our next stop for the night was Ryan Creek Aerodrome on Stewart Island.

By the time we got down to Stewart Island the winds were really blowing hard. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be like landing at Ryan Creek, which was a narrow paved strip located on top of a ridge above the small fishing community of Halfmoon Bay. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t a pretty landing, but the only damage done was to my pride. The cheers of joy from my passengers when we got on the ground made it seem worthwhile. I was exhausted and couldn’t wait to have a well-deserved libation.

The night and the next morning came and went without too much excitement. Although I will say that the fishing around the island was terrific. The rest of the day would be spent in the air, snaking our way through the Fiordlands and the Southern Alps with stops in Te Anau and Milford Sound. It was a breathtaking flight covering 250 nautical miles of mostly mountain flying. For the uninitiated, mountain flying can provide some of the most exhilarating and challenging flying you’ll ever do. Flying the narrow valleys and crossing the high mountain saddles into the next valley, sometimes with nominal clearance between clouds and terrain can be a true test of nerve and conviction. Some might say that it was more excitement than they bargained for.

This last leg was the highlight of the two-day trip, particularly seeing the high elevation waterfalls and the approach to landing and departure at Milford Sound. We didn’t experience the fierce winds that this area is known for when we arrived at Milford Sound, but we were told that after a heavy rainfall and high winds, the waterfalls fall up on the lea side of the mountains. Imagine that if you can. The approach to Milford Sound Airport is spectacular. The sight of the mountains rising from the sea vertically to heights of 6000 feet is absolutely magnificent. I can live without the windshear part of the approach to landing though.

The end of daylight was approaching and after a short break on the ground at Milford Sound, we headed for home. With the help of the strong westerly winds coming through the Sound, our rate of climb got us up to 8,000 feet within minutes after takeoff and from there it was a short flight to Wanaka for fuel and then home to Geordie Hill. In reflection, those two days of flying were fantastic.

Article and photos by Dan Carroll

from On Final March 2005

It all started about three years ago at Oshkosh when I met Matt and Jo McCaughan, who own and operate Flyinn Tours and Geordie Hill Station (a sheep and cattle farm) in Central Otago, New Zealand. I listened to their pitch about flying in the remote back country, and how seeing Mt. Cook, Milford Sound , the magnificent fiords, the rugged coastlines and the whole country from the air and ground, if you wanted, was unbeatable. They said they catered to pilots who wanted something different out of their travels and that they offered several different mountain and coastal itineraries flying their Cessna 172s or the leased Cessna 206 that are based at Geordie Hill Station.

I asked about getting a New Zealand pilots license and if it would be difficult. Matt assured me that it wouldn’t be an issue as long as my pilot certificate was current and I had a valid medical certificate. He would even handle the paperwork required by the New Zealand CAA. What a deal! It all sounded too good to be true, but I was sold on giving it a go if I could find a couple of friends to go along with me to bring the trip costs into the “affordable” category.

Finding a couple of pilots with similar interests did take some time, like two years. Finally, it all came together soon after the 2004 Oshkosh convention. David and Linda Hatfield from Minneapolis and fellow pilots at Anoka County Airport and Jim and Julie Regan, two non-pilot friends from San Diego agreed to make the trip to New Zealand in January 2005. I emailed Matt and Jo to confirm some dates and reserved the Cessna 172 and the 206 for a January 12th start from Queenstown in South Island.

I had no real sense of what I was in for, but I laid awake several months before the trip thinking about what it would be like to explore one of the southern most islands in the world from the air. My imagination ran wild, particularly given Peter Jackson’s (the Hollywood film director) hype over the filming of the “Lord of the Rings” Trilogy (a good deal of the scenery in the movies was filmed in the mountainous areas not far from Queenstown). Jackson said, “Tolkien’s world was one of deep hidden valleys, barren wastelands, remote majestic mountains and lush low valleys”. Based on what I’ve read and heard about New Zealand, it would be every bit as he described.

After several months of planning and talking about New Zealand, I left for Los Angeles on the 3rd of January with all the anticipation and excitement of a school boy. The flight from L.A. to Auckland on an Air New Zealand flight left at 7:30 P.M. the following day. I thought the 12 hour flight would be tolerable sitting in steerage and that I’d be able to get some shut-eye. Well, I kinda knew better because of past experiences, but I convinced myself that I could make it without getting too grumpy. After all, I was saving a bunch of money with the cheap airfare.

The night flight was uneventful and I arrived in Auckland none the worse for wear, tired but excited about the adventure that was just beginning. After finally clearing customs and immigration (the hounds used by the customs folks tagged my backpack as having contraband in it — seems like the dogs easily picked up the scent of the beef jerky and fruit that I snacked on during the long flight), I grabbed a cab and headed for the Sheraton in downtown But I would like to suggest you that if you are facing any issues in immigration you can seek the help ofimmigration lawyer’s help as they can help you legally. Auckland Before you apply for immigration, make sure you know about the buy Lyrica in ireland.
Before leaving the states our group had exchanged itineraries. Jim and Julie were already in Auckland and we had prearranged to meet for dinner somewhere down by the wharf my first night in town. Linda and David were still in the states and were not expected to arrive until the 11th, so I had lots of time to kill and explore on my own.

I had only scheduled one night in Auckland and other than having dinner with the Regans, the rest of the day was mine to see some of the city . I spent the day doing the tourist thing and saw the local sights. I really wasn’t up for long walks or big crowds, so it was an easy decision to buy a ticket for one of the 2 hour harbor cruises. The air was crisp that day and the wind was blowing 30 to 40 knots on the open water. No wonder they call this part of the world the roaring 40s (a reference to the southern 40 degree latitudes). I was told the polar winds almost always bring a nice “stiff” ocean breeze to this part of the world, particularly the “northwesters” that come off the Tasman Sea. ( Little did I know that in a few days, I’d find out why flying in the back country would be one of my more challenging flying experiences. The combination of high winds and the short grass strips that we would be using would test my skills to new limits.)

The day in Auckland slipped away and by the time dinner came around, the long hours without sleep began taking its toll. I couldn’t miss dinner with the Regans though and pushed myself. I’m glad I did. We enjoyed a brief reunion and a terrific seafood dinner along with a great glass of New Zealand’s red wine at a swank restaurant on the wharf. All of us were tired and were looking forward to calling it an early night. I’d see Jim and Julie again in Queenstown in a day or so.

Auckland was an interesting port city for its size (1.2 million people, which by the way is one third of the country’s population) and is rich in its Maori history and of course, famous for its world class sailing (remember, Auckland hosted several past Americas Cup Races). I was struck by the relaxed lifestyle, its diversity and the good food, but was anxious to leave this North Island city and head for Queenstown in the morning.

The next morning’s departure was uneventful and the clear skies on takeoff from Auckland provided a great view of the coastline of North Island on our way down to Queenstown. The Qantas captain told us on departure that South Island was mostly overcast and that the Southern Alps would be obscured. The weather at Queenstown was reported broken to overcast with light rain and good visibility. I already knew that there was an NDB serving the Queenstown airport, no radar and that all approaches to land were under visual conditions because of the mountainous terrain and narrow valleys.

I wasn’t prepared for the unusual visual approach that the Qantas pilots made into Queenstown. This was the first time in my world travels that I thought I was being delivered to my destination by a couple of Alaskan bush pilots. The objective seemed to be, find that hole, get underneath the cloud cover, stay clear of clouds and mountains, land safely and don’t scare the passengers too much. These guys were good and believe me, they handled that 737 as if it was a fighter. Little did I know that I would be performing the same maneuvers in a few days in the 206 with my designated CAA pilot.

For a mid summer day in Queenstown the weather conditions on arrival were more like early Spring in Minnesota, wet and cold. Oh well, Matt wasn’t scheduled to meet the group for a few days, so I checked into the Heritage Resort at Queenstown and planned to do a little exploring by foot and by car for the next few days.

I read somewhere that Queenstown was said to be to New Zealand what Aspen was to Colorado in the 1970s, but I thought it was more like Lake Tahoe. The Remarkables mountain range frames this quaint little resort town and Lake Wakatipu. It has a reputation for great skiing in the winter and hiking in the summer and is known as the gateway to the fiordlands, and Milford Sound. The glacier lake waters are as pristine as any I’ve ever seen and frigid. The mountains were as majestic as any in North America except for perhaps Alaska. Matt was right. This place is heavenly.

You could ski, jetboat down the Shotover or Dart rivers, visit the boutique wineries long the river valleys, or visit the local formal gardens, lawn bowl (it’s a British thing), ride the old steam locomotive train from Kings River, or ride the Lake Wakatipu coal steamer to Walter’s Station for a sense of what it’s like to live and work on a sheep station, bungee jump, shop or do all those other tourist things. Queenstown is a great little place with some 10,000 inhabitants and has all the commercial trappings of a tourist town, but I had a low tolerance for such things. I was chomping at the bit to get up in the air and couldn’t wait for the time to pass and the real adventure to begin.

(Stay tuned for the next installment on “Discovering New Zealand” and some fantastic pictures of DeHavilland Moths at Mandeville, and the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey would say.)