A Fool and His Monkey are Soon Parted
03-30-2011, 03:39 AM
#1
With The Resistance
Thread Starter
Joined APC: Jan 2006
Position: Burning the Agitprop of the Apparat
Posts: 6,191
A Fool and His Monkey are Soon Parted
A Fool and His Monkey are Soon Parted
The day started with the usual morning drive up the coastal road to the airport, the high cliffs at the edge of the Pacific were dull against the typical low overcast. On the way in we had the usual discussion about the very fine handling qualities of rental cars. They always seemed to drift much better in the hazardous switchbacks leading up from the coast than our own cars might have, they also seemed to enjoy long periods at full throttle on the flat straight sections. No cops were out this time of day and the few traffic lights were not working or purely optional.
In the right seat was my co-driver and mechanic, a veteran of many lengthy deployments to far off places that didn't attract many tourists. He was a man of few words, possesed of a fine sense of humor and an acerbic wit capable of cutting as surely as tool steel.
He made his living working on aircraft, but his other passions included the loving restoration of old motorcycles, his Citabria and a brace of Fox Terriers.
The mission for today's flight was a simple milk run, departing the coast and crossing the Andes to a small town in the central part of the country, Tingo Maria, and then head roughly north up a large and steep river valley toward our objective, which lay along the river some distance. It was about a 4000' strip made of loose and crumbly asphalt, close against the bank of a fast moving river and used by the local military as a staging area. No navigational aids, no radar, no ATC. We were to pick up a team and move them with their weapons and equipment back to the big city.
Flight plan filed and weather checked we scooted over to the section of the 'drome where the aircraft waited. The mechanic usually stayed behind, he also possesed good sense. This day he decided to fly along, allowing that his shop was in good order and it seemed like a good time to see the sights and break up the boredom. We soon had made preparations to get under way and ambled out to the aircraft wearing the usual uniform
of jeans and a loose hawaiian shirt to hide the hardware. I greeted Pablo, the mechanic's assistant, with a smile as he always kept the
plainwrapper spotless inside and out, no matter how much mud we had brought it back with the previous day.
Tires kicked, fires lit, checklists completed the single seat way, we hurled the entire assemblage aloft and soon cleared the typical 200' over layer that was thin but almost constant here. The twin turboprop climbed nicely through the goo and we were treated to the breathtaking spectacle of the Andes sparkling in the distance. Below us the undercast stretched for many miles up and down the desert coast, ahead it gave way to a vertical rise of twenty thousand feet.
The aircraft was well equipped with good FMS and enough radios to make it possible to talk to anyone, anywhere. We settled into cruise and watched those amazing peaks drift by, forever capped with snow. On a clear day they could be seen from 200 miles.
Soon the black rocks gave way to browns and eventually to very hilly terrain covered with lush, thick vegetation of verdant emerald green. Presently we were in an area almost entirely free of roads, villages or any sign of human occupation.
As was my custom, I offered the controls to the mechanic so that he could keep up his currency and perhaps enjoy the ride a little more. We were beyond radar control and I enjoyed the view a little more.
Ahead lay the village we were to cross entering the valley, it was a little jewel set against the river and the surrounding sea of green. It had a beautiful gravel airstrip which was distinctive. Steep canyon walls close on one side and the end, the river on the other side and then a steep range of mountains. Only one way in and the same way out.
We turned north up the valley and agreed the cloud layer ahead demanded we should move lower as we followed the river. The river would lead us straight to our destination.
As we continued to churn up the valley the walls got both higher and steeper. The base of the valley was fairly wide.
We had gotten in the practice of designing our own gps instrument approaches to many of the out of the way places we went. This place could only be reached by the river due to steep terrain on three sides. The weather continued to get lower as we progressed up the valley. I checked the miles to run, and it started to rain. Lightly at first.
We had worked our way down to 2000' and I suggested it might be better if I fly. I was hoping you would say that he chortled.
Turn around? It probably won't get much lower. There isn't a power line within 300 miles. Press on. Just ten minutes more.
It got lower and it rained harder. Soon I began to think some native in a canoe might hit us with an errant cast of his fishing rod.
This was not good, hair was standing up, but I still had an out. If I could find the field, I had a homemade instrument departure that would take me out of the valley. The river was wide and the bends were shallow. It should be just ahead, the last miles ticked down. There it is! There were wisps of cloud in the tops of the palm trees, we were halfway down the length of it on a 200 foot downwind. Power to idle, flaps, gear, a gentle climb to clear the trees and a turn to final.
Such a beautiful sight. As we happily touched the ground the mechanic remarked casually, that was just how I would have done it.
It then really started to rain, we adjourned to the hanger and the mechanic lounged on crates of ZSU-23 ammo and had a smoke while I contemplated the age of the big piles of explosive ordnance around us. Be careful where you put that out.
Egress was easy, although the locals were a little miffed their plane could not get in and they demanded I sign a waiver before takeoff.
We got back and debriefed over a couple of Pisco Sours, contemplating a possible safety award from the local authorities.
None was ever delivered.
The above account is entirely fictional and bears little similarity to places or persons living or near dead.
The day started with the usual morning drive up the coastal road to the airport, the high cliffs at the edge of the Pacific were dull against the typical low overcast. On the way in we had the usual discussion about the very fine handling qualities of rental cars. They always seemed to drift much better in the hazardous switchbacks leading up from the coast than our own cars might have, they also seemed to enjoy long periods at full throttle on the flat straight sections. No cops were out this time of day and the few traffic lights were not working or purely optional.
In the right seat was my co-driver and mechanic, a veteran of many lengthy deployments to far off places that didn't attract many tourists. He was a man of few words, possesed of a fine sense of humor and an acerbic wit capable of cutting as surely as tool steel.
He made his living working on aircraft, but his other passions included the loving restoration of old motorcycles, his Citabria and a brace of Fox Terriers.
The mission for today's flight was a simple milk run, departing the coast and crossing the Andes to a small town in the central part of the country, Tingo Maria, and then head roughly north up a large and steep river valley toward our objective, which lay along the river some distance. It was about a 4000' strip made of loose and crumbly asphalt, close against the bank of a fast moving river and used by the local military as a staging area. No navigational aids, no radar, no ATC. We were to pick up a team and move them with their weapons and equipment back to the big city.
Flight plan filed and weather checked we scooted over to the section of the 'drome where the aircraft waited. The mechanic usually stayed behind, he also possesed good sense. This day he decided to fly along, allowing that his shop was in good order and it seemed like a good time to see the sights and break up the boredom. We soon had made preparations to get under way and ambled out to the aircraft wearing the usual uniform
of jeans and a loose hawaiian shirt to hide the hardware. I greeted Pablo, the mechanic's assistant, with a smile as he always kept the
plainwrapper spotless inside and out, no matter how much mud we had brought it back with the previous day.
Tires kicked, fires lit, checklists completed the single seat way, we hurled the entire assemblage aloft and soon cleared the typical 200' over layer that was thin but almost constant here. The twin turboprop climbed nicely through the goo and we were treated to the breathtaking spectacle of the Andes sparkling in the distance. Below us the undercast stretched for many miles up and down the desert coast, ahead it gave way to a vertical rise of twenty thousand feet.
The aircraft was well equipped with good FMS and enough radios to make it possible to talk to anyone, anywhere. We settled into cruise and watched those amazing peaks drift by, forever capped with snow. On a clear day they could be seen from 200 miles.
Soon the black rocks gave way to browns and eventually to very hilly terrain covered with lush, thick vegetation of verdant emerald green. Presently we were in an area almost entirely free of roads, villages or any sign of human occupation.
As was my custom, I offered the controls to the mechanic so that he could keep up his currency and perhaps enjoy the ride a little more. We were beyond radar control and I enjoyed the view a little more.
Ahead lay the village we were to cross entering the valley, it was a little jewel set against the river and the surrounding sea of green. It had a beautiful gravel airstrip which was distinctive. Steep canyon walls close on one side and the end, the river on the other side and then a steep range of mountains. Only one way in and the same way out.
We turned north up the valley and agreed the cloud layer ahead demanded we should move lower as we followed the river. The river would lead us straight to our destination.
As we continued to churn up the valley the walls got both higher and steeper. The base of the valley was fairly wide.
We had gotten in the practice of designing our own gps instrument approaches to many of the out of the way places we went. This place could only be reached by the river due to steep terrain on three sides. The weather continued to get lower as we progressed up the valley. I checked the miles to run, and it started to rain. Lightly at first.
We had worked our way down to 2000' and I suggested it might be better if I fly. I was hoping you would say that he chortled.
Turn around? It probably won't get much lower. There isn't a power line within 300 miles. Press on. Just ten minutes more.
It got lower and it rained harder. Soon I began to think some native in a canoe might hit us with an errant cast of his fishing rod.
This was not good, hair was standing up, but I still had an out. If I could find the field, I had a homemade instrument departure that would take me out of the valley. The river was wide and the bends were shallow. It should be just ahead, the last miles ticked down. There it is! There were wisps of cloud in the tops of the palm trees, we were halfway down the length of it on a 200 foot downwind. Power to idle, flaps, gear, a gentle climb to clear the trees and a turn to final.
Such a beautiful sight. As we happily touched the ground the mechanic remarked casually, that was just how I would have done it.
It then really started to rain, we adjourned to the hanger and the mechanic lounged on crates of ZSU-23 ammo and had a smoke while I contemplated the age of the big piles of explosive ordnance around us. Be careful where you put that out.
Egress was easy, although the locals were a little miffed their plane could not get in and they demanded I sign a waiver before takeoff.
We got back and debriefed over a couple of Pisco Sours, contemplating a possible safety award from the local authorities.
None was ever delivered.
The above account is entirely fictional and bears little similarity to places or persons living or near dead.
Last edited by jungle; 03-30-2011 at 04:13 AM.
03-30-2011, 05:58 AM
#3
With The Resistance
Thread Starter
Joined APC: Jan 2006
Position: Burning the Agitprop of the Apparat
Posts: 6,191
Just a play on words of a common idiom. Monkey in this case meaning life.
Idiom Definitions for 'A fool and his money are soon parted'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This idiom means that people who aren't careful with their money spend it quickly. 'A fool and his money are easily parted' is an alternative form of the idiom.
Idiom Definitions for 'A fool and his money are soon parted'
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This idiom means that people who aren't careful with their money spend it quickly. 'A fool and his money are easily parted' is an alternative form of the idiom.
