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Aviation History
1963
1963 - 0359.PDF
FLIGHT International, 7 March 1963 343 J. Popiel, Poland (Zefir) open-class runner-up. Left, Makula's Zefir By 6.30 p.m. the numbered pins on the map were spreading up towards the north, along the west side of the Parana river in the Santa Fe province. It was obviously going to be one of those days, and piquancy was added by the fact that the French pilot Henry, who was previously in the open-class lead in his Breguet 901, had today been caught out and forced to land after making only 55km. Later that night the best distances recorded were 607km by Baeke of Belgium in a Skylark 3 and 637km by Webb of Canada in a Skylark 4, with several pilots—including Makula, Johnson and Schreder— still unlocated by the organizers at Junin. News of the remaining pilots straggled back to Junin by various means throughout Thursday, February 21, when it became obvious that the previous day's best distances had been made by Makula in Zefir number 47 and by Johnson in the Sisu. Makula had landed at an isolated station, El Nochero, on a railway line near the village of Gregoria Perez de Denis—a distance of 717km, no less, from Junin. This position was near the border between the provinces of Santa Fe and Chaco, which is pretty far north, and lay in a narrow strip between two of the marked danger areas. Johnson had made 711km, landing about 8km south-west of Makula. The two landing reports had eventually reached Junin via the railway telegraph. No more than half a dozen tug aircraft were on the line at Junin on the Thursday morning. Recovery—or recuperation, as a garbled translation had it (on second thoughts, perhaps the translation was not so garbled)—of the sailplanes was being organized with the tugs based at Rafaela, San Francisco, Santa Fe and Esperanza. In general the system worked well, but the sailplane pilots on return reported a few more interesting examples of tug-pilot navigation. Pearson of Southern Rhodesia had completed his retrieve in two stages: on the first, after being towed inexorably off course, he had released, landed, and told the tug pilot where they were (information for which the latter was genuinely grateful); on the second, after the towplane had again gone off course, ending up out of fuel south-west of Junin, Pearson had released and soared the 100km back to base. Not until that night did news come in of Dick Schreder's landing place. When the pin went on the map it was almost in the middle of one of the main shaded danger areas—70km east of the village of Tostado, some 614km from Junin, and in an isolated area of swampland which was almost a complete blank on the map. In the dusty calm of the Junin evening, the pilot of Stearman number 44 applied the brakes rather too smartly when taxying fast behind a visiting Cessna, and promptly nosed over in spectacular fashion in front of the briefing hangar. After being manhandled back on to all three wheels, however, the aircraft seemed to be in good shape: the prop was swung, the engine started and the aircraft taxied away to meet whatever the next crisis might turn out to be. The stories continued to circulate as the last pilots returned on Friday, February 22. El briefing was postponed from 11 a.m. to noon, to 1 p.m., to 2 p.m., and then cancelled. There would be no contest flying that day "because it is not possible to take advantage of the meteorological conditions since the retrieving probably will be very late." John Williamson arrived back to report that his 390km flight to Vila had been followed by a 24hr telephone mix-up, two nights spent at a local hospital, by courtesy of the doctor there, and an invitation to attend a hernia operation on Thursday night. Talking of hospitals, Anthony Deane-Drummond's bed for Wednesday night was in a rural bar which doubled as the local slaughterhouse, and which he shared with a large community of cockroaches. Goodhart's distance that day was just over 500km. Perhaps the best story was that told by Dick Schreder, who had spent two nights with an Indian family. On the Thursday night he had been treated to a special repast, the main course of which he identified as roast dog. Schreder had flown over deserted swampland for the last hour of his flight, before landing in a cultivated but muddy field next to a road. It had taken the pulling power of two horses to extricate the sailplane from the field (ten men had failed to do the job) and the return take-off had been made from the dusty road. The Ranquel tug revved up and Schreder was promptly on instruments as his glider, its wingtips overhanging the water-filled ditches on each side of the road, was immersed in a thick dust cloud. Meanwhile, at Laguna de Gomez airfield, Junin, an Argentine welcome was being prepared for Makula and Johnson, who were Dick Schreder, USA (HP-II, third in open class) with Mrs Schreder, who crewed for him ^W
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