Head Over Heels by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2006-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

CLIMBING KOSCIUSKO

Since I was a child I have been captivated by things that fly, from the tiny willy wagtail to the huge wedge-tailed eagle, from a small crop-duster plane to a massive Boeing 747. Whenever a plane passed overhead I’d watch, engrossed, as it blazed a trail across the sky.

Perhaps that fascination began the day my uncle, Ian McGregor, flew Dad, Jamie Donaldson and me to Ag-quip, an agricultural field day at Gunnedah, about three hours’ drive southwest of home. I was in fourth or fifth class at the time. I was so excited about the flight that I remember it better than the field day itself, despite the fact that it was one of the largest in the southern hemisphere.

Another time when I was still in primary school, there was a pig shoot in the district, using a helicopter. Dad was the navigator on one of the shoots and I went up with him. I sat between him and the helicopter pilot and was dumbfounded, blown away by the experience. I couldn’t wait to climb in. Actually I think I was the first one in and last one out.

For me, flying was the ultimate experience. As the power of the plane or helicopter engine throbbed around me, it seemed to permeate my skin and seep into my very soul. I felt the power, the energy. At that moment when we left the ground, the sense of being airborne gave me a huge rush. I felt free, like an open-ended question of endless possibilities.

And then to be able to see forever into the distance, until it literally disappeared from view to my naked eye. I loved the space, the different perspective, the way the landscape turned into a roadmap — and I could see how the jigsaw of tracks and thoroughfares and properties all fitted. And kangaroos, pigs and livestock — as small as ants — brought tiny dots of movement to it all.

I was hooked. Just two flights and I was addicted for life.

Once I left school and headed north, I grew even keener. In outback Queensland and the Northern Territory, aeroplanes and particularly helicopters were used extensively for mustering. That whetted my appetite even more. When we were mustering at Avon Downs I was on horseback in the middle of 40-degree heat, sweating like a pig, and I looked up at this guy in a helicopter and thought, ‘I’d love to swap him places.’

Sometimes I think that if I’d made it to the Camooweal pub that afternoon in 1987, I would have pursued my pilot’s licence and ended up in planes or even more likely helicopters — they were my favourite flying machines. Perhaps it’s a bit of a ‘boys and their toys’ thing. Some blokes like fast cars, some like yachts and some, like me, want a helicopter.

Then I had my accident and the dream of flying was shattered. I was having enough trouble just dressing and feeding myself, let alone flying. But over the months following my homecoming, the interest was rekindled.

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