Wired for sound

Those of us that fly aircraft are holders (generally) of another qualification, the 'Flight Radiotelephone Operator Licence'. This impressive sounding document entitles you to work the electric wireless fitted to your aircraft and is subject, like the licence for the radio equipment itself, to the auspices of the Australian Communications Authority.

I recently did a run in my R22 coastal from Sydney to Port Douglas, across the gulf country then down through Cloncurry, Longreach, Quilpie & White Cliffs to Sydney with four other choppers. This trip was a joy! Sheer, unimaginable, hedonistic, delight!!

A good proportion of the exhilaration and fun was made possible by the radio communications we enjoyed. You really can't muster wild pigs, find lost comrades, tell jokes, report chip lights, issue dares, threaten buddies, notify points-of-interest, signal intentions, discuss the fuel situation, broadcast warnings, complain about the weather and talk to flight service without a serviceable radio.

We spent a good deal of time 'on the numbers' , 126.35 MHz, the exclusive domain of chatty chopper types. Some real gems (a few of them mine alas) will stick with me a long time. Phrases like "What wire?", "Is that Maryborough (OLD) or Maryborough (VIC)?", "hey guys", "going down", "move over that's my spot" and "I've got the little aeroplane over the cross & there is nothing here, just bloody trees" are not easily forgotten if you know the context.

When we did go CTA we eventually stopped harassing controllers with five different calls at ten second intervals (sorry Cooly tower) and appointed one chopper the official radio vehicle for all of us for that leg. Nothing improves radio technique like the sure & certain knowledge that four other machines are listening intently to your every word, waiting for the slip that will become the chief topic of conversation around 'beer-o-clock' that evening. Most memorable call for the trip was on approach to Hamilton Is. George was heard to request lunch from the tower and to our amusement and surprise was informed by the slow speaking and very understandable American controller there that a car was being despatched from the resort to collect us for the meal!

On another trip I flew in tandem with a mustering machine boasting a UHF CB rig. The guy flying that was having a ball. Jamie talked to truckies giving radar alerts, landholders on harvesters, farm supply companies organising deliveries, mums chasing waywood children and people just on for a mag. He had a ball, returning every so often to the chat frequency with details of the latest contact. The long haul from Nyngan just wizzed by.

In fact the trip served to jog my memory of notable radio conversations I've overheard through the years, exchanges like;

"What are you trying to do, kill us both?" Some instructor, I know not where but certainly within radio range, had got so agitated he had hit the TX button instead of the intercom. There followed a tirade on the appropriate use of flap during go rounds. That was it. I never found out where they were or what, if anything, the recipient of this berating had to say for him or herself. Sometimes I would listen out on the frequency as I flew this particular track to see if there were more instalments like the radio serials of old. But this was apparently a one act play.

On another occasion I overheard this completely inappropriate inbound call delivered in a heavy New Yorker female accent. I knew the guy on duty in the tower was testy (he had an excellent command of the English language & had been chewing up & spitting out pilots most of the afternoon) so I waited with baited breath for the reply. Cranking up the volume on the headset, I didn't want to miss a precious word. There was a pregnant pause as the gent composed his reply. I sort of cringed in anticipation. I was not disappointed! The lady was informed in no uncertain terms of the shortcomings in her call. Lack of radar facilities at the GAAP and a host of other factors were detailed, sort of a mini lesson in Australian airspace divisions really, concluding with a thinly veiled invite for her to have another try at gaining entry to the zone. There was an even longer pause than last time while the poor unfortunate licked her wounds and considered the options. Would she risk another mauling or go elsewhere? "You have a nice day", came the reply.

"Please help me!" , is the phrase I most remember. It came stridently over my headset one day, unaccompanied by the niceties of a call sign or other details. The voice from the private hell that must have been the cockpit of that aircraft was quavery with fear and the flight service unit on the receiving end sprang into action. The guy on duty was magic. Set radio phraseology went out the window as he quizzed the pilot about his predicament. 'Please help me' had blundered into cloud, was now hopelessly lost and obviously in fear of his life. I could not believe how helpful flight service could be. They literally talked that poor soul out of the great sucking vortex of human misery & despair that is a VFR pilot lost in cloud and the episode marked me for life. Before that I was actually pretty blase about cloud for a VFR plod. I had flown with an IFR pilot, he even let me fly his freight run back from Orange once, 45 minutes through solid, zero visibility, pissing down rain & I had found the instruments easy going. Mate the radio exchange that day turned my attitudes around I can tell you.

I've heard big media machines argue with each other over circuit directions at a CTAF, eavesdropped on company pilots telling porkies about their location, listened to rescue machines sending medical details and listened to cricket scores broadcast by enthusiastic controllers. The keen skier at Camden tower once asked me to relay snow conditions at Thredbo to him via flight service. The radio is a great aid to piloting and is not for frivolous use. What was my last flight service conversation? It went something like this;

Kris. "Sydney this is JNM I can't reach HVK direct but I'm freezing here. Can you inquire for me please if that particular member of the Hunter valley mafia has cabin heat fitted?"

Sydney "Well since I'm a Hunter old boy I might just do that for you" Pause. "HVK reports cabin heat is a delete option on his machine"

Kris. "Oh that's great. Thanks very much"

Sydney "Your Welcome"