Crashing in the wilderness - a day to remember.

It had to happen. I was so mesmerised by the warm conditions after a stormy start to spring that I missed the warning signs of the change. I could blame distractions: the wedge-tailed eagles that were sharing the elevator; the mobs of kangaroos and emus grazing in the wetland far below; or the wonderful view of the coast and the glittering blue southern ocean beyond. 

the little Fling in the dunes

But it was plain overconfidence that had me zooming low along the ridge to the left then flying way out into the void of the crater. I know trouble lurks there whenever the air has a touch of easterly in it.

The breeze puffed, then stopped; the lift just disappeared. I came out of my reverie with a sick feeling in my tummy and immediately threw the plane into a 180 turn heading back toward the slope, already losing height. I knew what was coming, and sure enough there was a puff from the southeast.

I turned away from the steep sides of the crater because an easterly breeze slides along the wall and produces downdrafts. Then another lull, so back into the ridge probing for any lift. The little Fling was well below eye level now and skimming the dense canopy of trees as I tried to make for a clearing below me. 

But the next puff was from the ESE and I knew all was lost.

Decision time. Stick it in the trees halfway up the slope and risk losing sight of it? Or land in the bottom of the caldera where I could watch it onto the ground. I decided on the latter and after a tense couple of minutes landed near a prominent yellow shrub in plain sight.

I kicked myself for not purchasing a lost plane alarm. I could see the Fling from my high vantage but knew it would be different down there; down there on the edge of a giant wetland that was prime snake country. Back to the car to grab my extraction kit: a walking staff; safety glasses; gaiters; a knife; and a bottle of water. This was going to be a tough retrieval and I knew it.

Don’t you just hate thoughts like that before you even set out?

Over the rim I went. I was soon battling through waist-high gorse, brambles, boxthorn and the huge indigenous nettles. The only way through was to follow wallaby and emu tracks. At times this required going headfirst on all fours at a down-angle of 45 degrees. I had to skirt the denser parts, hack my way across slope then find another animal track to follow down; down, down, for ever down. Near the bottom, the undergrowth got denser and higher; it was well over my head now. 

At last I reached the flat but was confronted by solid belts of brambles and towering clumps of rushes. It was like butting up against the outer defences of a fortress. And I could see nothing; well almost nothing. It was here I encountered my first snake [unidentified species].

As I worked around to the left I kept glimpsing out across the marsh, looking for that distinctive shrub with the yellow flowers. To my dismay, I discovered that this shrub was not unique. The place was littered with them. On I went, hacking, slipping and detouring; pausing to remove the leeches that seemed to get bigger and more numerous with every step.

another iron; BeEvolution on the slopes of Tarerer

I was wearing rugged clothing and the long staff was indispensable for clearing a path. But I was getting cut to pieces. My hands and face were bleeding and full of broken thorn tips. My whole body was ablaze from the potent nettles, which were as big as Triffids and stinging clear through the so called Hard Yakkas.

Next I encountered a large tiger snake lying inert across the track. I thumped the ground with my staff to alert it to my presence. It didn’t move a muscle. I tried to find a way around it, but all was dense chaos. Time to reassess . . . and give up the plane for lost.

So I backtracked, mentally adding up the cost of replacing the little Fling as I went. It seemed infinitely less costly than continuing this madness. I began to accept its loss and experienced a pang of melancholy as we'd had many good flights together. Now sweating profusely and feeling miserable, I decided to have one last scan from a vantage on the slope and was amazed to see a magenta wing poking out the side of that distinctive yellow shrub. I felt like I’d backed the winner of the Melbourne Cup.

Between me and the plane was a solid belt of brambles and nettles, twice as dense as anywhere yet encountered and over 2 meters high. The little Fling was so tantalisingly close yet so impossible to reach. I tried to get at it from the flanks and encountered my third snake, a copperhead lying atop some bracken. No worries here; they are shy and elusive creatures.

looks benign enough from a distance

I couldn’t get through anywhere, though I did come face-to-beak with an emu, which boomed its alarm call and ran off like a mad chook on steroids. So I decided on a frontal assault and started desperately cleaving my way through the prickly barrier with my staff. But it proved to be impenetrable and I split the staff.

“What would Bear Grylls do in a situation like this?” I wondered [apart from botting a fag and a Mars Bar from the filum crew, that is].

“He’d wield his frickin great knife, grab a whole lot of timber, lay it across the prickly barrier and walk over it to the yellow shrub,” I mused. What a loony idea! So that’s precisely what I did. 

My feet never touched the ground. I reckon I levitated across 25 meters of dense brambles before I was able to pluck the plane out of the shrub and start back. This was tricky while holding onto the delicate airframe in one hand, and I almost toppled headfirst into the hellish tangle on several occasions. But I wasn't letting go of the Fling.

When I made the side of the crater again I examined the plane. No damage. NO DAMAGE! I couldn’t believe it. But the Fling is a tough little doer that I have more than once landed in boxthorn without injury.

My elation soon evaporated as I began the long, sweatily painful scramble back to the top. I managed to give the plane some minor dings on the ascent, but this was soon repaired and we were back flying the following week.

Total time to recover aircraft: 185 minutes.

My arms, legs and face tingled for days from the nettle stings. Several wounds on my forearms and knees have left souvenir scars. This same slope has become my favourite place to fly in these months, but I’m watching that breeze like a hawk.

Tarerer at the end of a long long day