A few weeks later, after I clocked up some 9 hours with instructor, I was sent to my first solo flight. The airfield was between a hill called Kalvária, and the Nitra castle. To this day I can see that castle under my left wing during the first turn on the circuit, and the Kalvária during the third turn. Immediately before the edge of the airfield were the remnants of the factory popularly called Mrázovka where, during the WW2, manufacture of various airplanes was taking place, Fieseler Storch (I think), Kranich, and maybe some others.
The instructors at Nitra Aero club were names well known in the
Slovakian aviation: Major Róbert Vesperín, Lacko Bartosiewicz, Mikulec,
Varečka, Jano Smatana, Miloš Mičík, and many others. From my family I was not
the first person in Nitra, for my uncle Štefan was a flight
mechanic there during his military service in 1927-28.
Aero clubs at the time belonged to the Air Force under the umbrella of
Society for Cooperation With the Army (acronym SVAZARM), and all flying was
conducted in accordance with the air force rules. After a few hours in the air
with an instructor it was time for some aerobatics: I will never forget the
first loop, followed by a roll, in a Z-26 registration OK-EXL, somewhere above
Koliňany, with Major Róbert Vesperín at the controls.
After some 50 flying hours I decided to devote my life to aviation. The
Soviet methods of agriculture and animal husbandry, as taught at the time, were
never appealing to me anyway, and in the autumn 1955 I enrolled into the (for
non-students) compulsory military service. I was lucky to become an aircraft
licenced engineer at the air force base at Bechyně, later at Čáslav. I spent more
than two years working on the then newish jet fighters MiG-15. The National Service soldiers at the time were not allowed to fly in aero clubs, and during those
two years I only looked on with envy…
After the service, early in 1958, I joined aero club in Vajnory. During that year I clocked more than 100 flying hours on powered airplanes, gained flight instructor and tug pilot rating, and also multi-engine airplanes endorsement.
In winter courses for budding pilots I began lecturing on various subjects.
The First World Aerobatic Championship.
In 1958 I flew Meta-Sokol to Choceň for its
periodical inspection. There, behind their hangar, was the wreckage of airplane
Sokol, in which the then well-known pilot Luboš Št'astný was killed
somewhere in Africa. Several Czech pilots-acrobats were standing around the
wreckage as well; some of them recently took part in some aerobatic
competitions abroad (Lockheed Trophy in Coventry, I think). I mentioned that we
should try and organise some similar competition in our country,
Czechoslovakia. As far as I remember I heard but peals of laughter at such
suggestion, for aviation, airfields, airplanes, all belonging to the Air Force, were
at the time highly secret subjects (and for that reason I have from those time
only a very few photographs, all taken more or less clandestinely, including
the picture above). On the same day I was at the offices of the central
Committee of SVAZARM in Prague, together with Captain Viliam Kuna and Comrade
Otokar Zajko, who were in Slovakia heads of powered flying and gliding
respectively. Still in high spirits after the discussion in Choceň only a few
hours previously, to the President of SVAZARM, a Colonel, if not a General, I
mentioned the need for some aerobatic competition in
Czechoslovakia. I have no recollection of his reaction, but at home in Vajnory
I received a severe dressing down for my temerity of mentioning such outrageous
thing. Undeterred, I started writing letters, certainly to the SVAZARM, and
certainly to any other organisation I could think of having potential interest
in such a competition – and I do not remember all the details. And I received a
huge number of put-downs from all quarters for my efforts, and I do not
remember anybody who would come to me with a word of encouragement, let alone
support. Suffice to say, that at the end of summer, 1960, we, at the Aero Club of
Vajnory, hosted the first World's Aerobatic Championship.
The Championship took two weeks, the first week was allocated to training flights, and the competition itself lasted for nearly entire second week. One member of the Spanish team, short, swarthy, was interested in the squiggles we, the Czechoslovak pilots, had affixed to the instrument panels of our airplanes. The squiggles were graphic descriptions of the aerobatic sequences, and with the Spanish guy I spent a few hours studying them. The language was a problem, for at the time I spoke only Slovak, Czech and Russian, all these languages being entirely foreign to him, but we managed to get by. Many years later I discovered “my” squiggles – more elegant and comprehensive by far – in the form of the so-called Aresti system, which is being used world-wide ever since.
By the way, I was not one of the competitors in that Championship. In the recent Championship of Slovakia in Aerobatics I finished fifth, and only the first four advanced to the Czechoslovakian round, from which only top ten (I think) were nominated for the World Championship. A few pictures from that first World Championship can be seen here https://plus.google.com/photos/116518737615500613214/albums
My haggling with the Spaniard did not go unnoticed by the State Security (ŠtB), for one young man came to me asking if I am aware of the ban on speaking with foreigners (if such thing can be imagined in 2011). Well, aware I was and the young man led me to the exit with the words "not to come near the airfield again". As result I saw the Championship from a respectable 1 kilometre distance at Rendez. One day there I met with a group of parachutists from the same aero club, some of whom held world records in parachute jumping at the time (Šaňo Nagy, Gabo Kiš, maybe Hindický, Méheš, and others), who enquired as to how us, the pilots, were able to wangle such thing as this Championship. I told them about my activities, and to my surprise, the next year the Aero Club of Vajnory was hosting World Championship in parachute jumping. With this, apart from that initial discussion, I had nothing to do whatsoever, for I was mostly away and busy with my new job as....
.... an air traffic controller.
It just happened that shortly after the Aerobatic Championship I chanced on an advertisement in the local paper calling for “people interested in despatching airplanes”. At the time I was working as a shoveler in the nearby chemical factory, “despatching” seemed attractive to me, etc., etc. – and I got the job, and was required to start in October 1960.
The new job took me away from the aero club activities. I had to learn a lot of new things, I was working shifts – the aero club faded into the background a little. On the rare occasions I went there was to stand in for some flight instructor, or a tug pilot, even a courier on occasions, mainly flying some dignitaries around the country; I did not cease my lecturing in winter courses for budding pilots. Initially, these were held at the airfield, but transport in wintertime was not always reliable and we ended up in the SVAZARM building in the City, just next to Reduta. And at the same time, I was nominated to the position on the...
...Board of the aero club.
It was a strange institution. The aero club belonged to the Army, and each and every of them was run along military lines: all equipment, including the airplanes, was supplied by the Army, flying was conducted according to the Air Force manuals, officers ranking from captains up to colonels were in charge of every aero club. And, of course, they had the first and the last word in everything. And alongside all that there was this Board…
In Vajnory, the Board consisted of about eight members, and each of them
was “in charge” of some of the club’s activity. I ended up with powered flying.
At Vajnory at the time we had about 15 powered airplanes, namely Z-126, Z-226,
L-60, Ae-45, L200, L-40, C-11, An-2. I beg for forgiveness from those airplanes
I forgot to mention, it’s been a long time since...
The Board's Chairman at the time was Comrade Tomáš Maňka, an exceptionally intelligent man, and a pilot par excellence.
One of the first things I chanced upon in my field of activity, which was powered airplanes, were discrepancies in statistics. Keeping tabs on the usage of airplanes is exceedingly important, for each type has strict and exact intervals of maintenance: every 10 hours must something be checked/cleaned/repaired/replaced, every 25 hours, 50, 100, 500, etc. If these intervals are broken by a mere 10 minutes, let alone one hour, the airplane is not allowed to fly without special dispensation from a technician, with details of restrictions – if any – clearly defined. In Vajnory aero club the flying hours were recorded in a cavalier fashion (the airplanes did not have automatic flying hours recorders). In local flights the take-offs and landing were recorded by the ground crew in the “Book of take-offs and landings”. The recording, where forgotten, was added by estimation at the end of the flying day; the inter-airfield flights, and flights at away-airfields, were a bit trickier. The recording of flying times depended on the pilots, whose activity was not always focused on the maintenance of good records. In summary, the keeping of statistics had a lot to be desired, to put it mildly. When raised at meetings of the Council, these matters received rather short shrift: it’s the responsibility of SVAZARM, and that’s where it ended (except that for raising it at all I tickled the Colonels against myself).
There were huge discrepancies in the airplanes’ fuel and oil consumption, where I could not help noticing that the fuel was used for everything, apart from its proper purpose: the mechanics used it to wash the airplane components; many people used it in their cars and motorcycles… Again – don’t worry, it’s SVAZARM’S responsibility!
At around the same time my character received a “political” blot. It
happened thus…
We, the pilots of powered airplanes, had but little to do with our gliding brothers (with the exception of those few who flew in both types of airplanes). From my position on the Board, I was aware of one new member, who joined after having been refused membership in an aero club somewhere in the Czech part of the country. That was all I knew.
One lovely gliding day it was my turn to man the tug airplane. There were almost a dozen of gliders of all types getting ready, and, as it was customary, they all wanted to be in the air at the same time the moment the weather conditions became conducive for gliding. I was pulling them up one after another, and all of them were releasing themselves from my tug after reaching 400 – 500 metres height. After the first few flights I knew locations of best updrafts, and some of the gliders were releasing themselves at as low as 300 metres. Suddenly I noticed one of the gliders coming to land: conditions being so good something must have happened to him, I thought. After having pulled them all in the air I landed and switched the engine off. After a while one of the ground crew came to me saying that Kinský would like to get to air again (Kinský was the name of the new member). Fine, I started the engine, the glider was hitched behind me and off we went! I found the best updraft, started circling and waited for him to release himself: 300 metres, 400, 500 … 700, nothing. I indicated to him by gently rocking my wings that perhaps…. He just hand-gestured to me to continue climbing. As you like, I thought; he released himself at about 1500 metres. I landed and promptly forgot about the whole episode. A day or two later I was summoned to the office of the local StB (State Security): what do I know about the case - what case???!!! It transpired that on that day the glider pilots, when they were storing the gliders in their fairly tight hangar, discovered some unusual extra space, and it was only then that they realised that one glider was missing… Later on, after ‘phone calls from Austria, it was discovered that the glider with Kinský on board landed in Austria. Such unauthorised excursions from the “communist” paradise were regarded highly criminal. I was the last person to be in contact with this “criminal”, albeit by means of a tug rope only – I was under suspicion of aiding and abetting.
Being member of the Board was less and less to my liking, and I began to think of resigning. The final straw came from the comrade Chairman, who on several occasions placed emphasis on things leading to preferential treatment of one group of people – his friends. It occurred especially at the birth of the famous aerobatic group.
I was responsible for the powered flying (on paper, at least), but the
proposal to form an aerobatic group was presented to me in its final form. I
had no objections and supported the idea wherever such support was needed – it
was an interesting and, given the political atmosphere we lived in, a big
thing. I merely remarked to the Comrade Maňka that perhaps a club
competition should be held to select the best pilots. At the time we had in our
aero club at least a dozen of excellent pilots, with all of them skilled in
formation flying. How to select the best one for aerobatic formation flying I
had no idea; I was certain that nobody else had such an idea either! Comrade
Maňka bristled just-so-gently, for, albeit indirectly, I cast doubts on his
selection of pilots. The group became famous, successful and popular at air
shows at home at in the near abroad. I admired their skills and courage, but
the method of selection of their members went against my hair. I had enough of
the Board and resigned my membership after some two years.
And here I feel the need for an apology to the Comrade Maňka for something that he could construe as some kind of revenge. I am not lusting for revenge, nor do I know what for – but still…
A year or two after my resignation Comrade Maňka turned up at Ivanka airport, where I worked as an area air traffic controller. He asked me that, since I must be certainly aware, that the Manager of the airport is on the way out, whether I would be able to push some buttons and pull some ropes for him, Comrade Maňka, to get his position. I was not aware of anything around the airport manager. Of the situation I informed my friend Ondro Hudoba from Žilina, who promptly submitted his application. He had suitable qualifications, gained at the Transport University in his hometown, he was an excellent pilot, and he was a member of the ruling Communist party – he had all necessary qualifications in abundance. Unfortunately, the position of the airport Manager went to the local storeman, a comrade Želinský; my Ondro ended up as Manager at Košice airport, a consolation prize…
I have fond memories of my 10 years at Vajnory, some of them stand out more than others: escorting groups of “western” airplanes from Bratislava to Košice; aerobatics with captain Kuna; debating colonel Šoška… Maybe I’ll write them down all, when I feel like it one day.
Escorting foreign airplanes.
Under some ruling foreign airplanes were not allowed to fly over
Czechoslovakian territory unaccompanied.
Around 1964 I was asked by the aero club’s manager, colonel Mäsiar, to
escort several groups of foreign airplanes from Bratislava to Košice, a
distance of some 300 kilometres. Among the groups were airplanes from West
Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and maybe some other countries (the name of Neil
Williams whom I met once is buzzing somewhere in the background; maybe the
British group was among them as well). They were on their way to the World
Aerobatic Championship taking place somewhere in the Soviet Union. From Košice
they were to be escorted by a Soviet airplane.
I presented myself to those groups at Ivanka airport, where they landed
one after another, and outlined to them details of the trip. One of the groups
asked me to ensure that my airplane should fly at speed of at least 200kmh, for
some of their aerobatic airplanes’ engines tend to overheat at lower speeds.
Back at Vajnory, with the assistance of our local mechanics, I prepared
the twin-engine L-200, which was able to fly at the speed of close to 300kmh.
As well, I signed for keys from the hangar, for I had to fly the airplane from
Vajnory to Ivanka (3 kilometres apart) at 7 in the morning.
Next day, before 7 a.m., I dragged the airplane out of the hangar,
checked, prepared, started – it would not! After a while I discovered that the
fuel filter had been removed, favourite trick of the colonel Mäsiar, aero club
manager. I was unable to find the part and so back to the hangar with the
L-200, and I pulled out the much slower L-40 Meta Sokol. I flew it to Ivanka
and informed the disappointed visitors about the predicament. The airplane
(KZ-7, I think) that was unable to fly slower than 200kmh for prolonged period
of time, each time the engine temperature climbed past red mark began to
perform aerobatic manoeuvres around us, and somehow we managed to get to
Košice, 300 kilometres away.
After landing in Košice I discovered that the way back to Bratislava was
barred by a strong cold front, and we slept at the airport. Next morning we
landed at Vajnory, after an eventful flight during which we had to dodge
various remnants of the front. To my surprise, at Vajnory there waited for us
(I had a passenger, a glider pilot from Vajnory, who hitched a ride with me) two
members of the secret security service (ŠtB). One of them,
Zat'ko, was known to me from my work at Ivanka airport. They immediately barged
into us with questions, like “what were you talking about with those
westerners?”, “where are the contraband cigarettes and other articles?” that we
were allegedly given by those westerners. My denials – “look into my pockets,
check the airplane over there” – were to no avail. One of them actually went to
the airplane and checked every cranny and nook – “Nothing, fuck all!”, was his elegant verdict
on return. We were being abused by them for a while and eventually they left
with ominous words “don’t you dare to come to this airfield until investigation
is over!”. Facetiously I asked “and can I go to Ivanka airport to my work?”, to
which they replied “just you keep toying with us…”.
I kept coming to work at Ivanka, though and, one morning, after my night shift,
I stopped at the Central market for some breakfast and a glass of redcurrant
wine. I chanced there upon the secret service agent, known to me from Vajnory
and Ivanka as well. I treated him to a glass of wine, maybe even two, and asked
him what stage is “my” investigation at. The answer was that there never was any
investigation, for he knows what sort of dubious person I was! Can I then
continue with my aero club activities, can I go to the Vajnory airfield? Well,
if you insist so much, was his answer… That’s how the things were solved in
those days.
The real cause for the presence of the two secret agents at Vajnory
airfield was different, though!
On the day of my departure from Vajnory airfield to Ivanka early in the
morning something happened. I was aware that on that day an airplane was
scheduled to land at Ivanka from Austria or West Germany. Indeed, on our
departure from Ivanka, myself in Meta-Sokol, accompanied by a flock of foreign
airplanes, I heard on the radio the scheduled airplane calling Ivanka tower.
Their connection was not without fault, for either the tower could not hear the
airplane, or vice versa. According to the Air Navigation Rules I interposed and
tried to mediate between the two, also unsuccessfully. Later, when I was past
Nitra, some 60-70 km away, I was unable to hear either the airplane, or the
tower, and the episode thus ended for me. In the meantime, however, the
airplane landed at Vajnory airfield, a group of East Germans hopped on board,
the airplane took off and disappeared westward beyond the Austrian border. An
East German registered passenger vehicle remained abandoned on the outskirt of
the airfield.
I was summoned to, and interrogated at, the Security Service headquarters: did I see the East German vehicle? What did I know about the whole affair? Why was it exactly me selected to accompany the “western” airplanes? After several sessions by different agents the whole affair died down and I never heard of it again.
Aviation-themed photographs in Slovakian Picasa.
In the communist SVAZARM era the aero clubs belonged to the army, and
taking of photographs was prohibited. From my 15-years of activity in aero
clubs and at various air force bases I saw but very few cameras, and pictures
from those times are not easy to come by. Those that exist are often of poor
quality, attesting to the fact they were taken clandestinely. And woefully few
are of the people who were in charge of aero clubs for the simple reason that
the same people were in charge of enforcing the bans.
Noteworthy from among those who were photographed but seldom, mostly air force officers, are the following: Róbert Vesperín, manager of Nitra aero club, Anton Mäsiar, ditto at Vajnory, Viliam Kuna, head of powered flying in Slovakia, Otakar Zajko, head of gliding in Slovakia, Anton Šoška, manager of Slovakian aero clubs, Vinco Draganovský, something around parachute jumping,etc. From nonsoldiers men like Fero Havran and Ivan Kubán, both flying instructors at Vajnory, are nowhere to be seen. And from ordinary aero club members, missing are Zdeněk Bruthans, Zdenka Morovjanová, Jozef Smolka, Tonda Sokol, and scores of others. And, of course, not everyone was photogenic…
Captain Kuna.
Viliam Kuna was in charge of powered flying in Slovakian aero clubs, and
he held that position already at the time of my joining the Vajnory aero club
in 1958; he left some time in 1962-63 and became captain on Il-14, flying for
the Interior ministry air wing. In that position, and myself as an air traffic
controller, we communicated once when he was on the way to Poland. I flew with
him many times, and it was always something memorable.
First time it was when he was testing my navigation skills during flight
from Vajnory to Prague, and landing at Choceň on the way, to deliver the
Meta-Sokol airplane for a major service. From Chocen I piloted and Ae-45, which
was flown to Choceň by Mr Zajko.
Take-off from Vajnory was uneventful, but from Trstín the mountains were
covered by fairly common early-morning clouds. I flew above them, but after a
while they seem to be stretching forever in front of us, instead of the usual 8
or 10 kilometres. Having no endorsement for flying in the clouds I decided to
turn back a little and find some way of flying below them; I was ordered by
captain Kuna to proceed above the clouds. Mr Zajko, flying in a loose formation
with us, came closer and asked by gesticulation if it is o.k. (we had no radios
in those days); assured in the positive we kept on flying. I was using only
map, compass and the on-board clock. The cloud cover was continuous with no
“hole” to enable ground visibility until we were near Choceň, according to my
reckoning. Only then we saw a pin-prick size hole, through which we were able
to glimpse the ground. With the Captain’s approval I dove into it and had to
put the airplane into a fairly sharp spiral to avoid entering the clouds. I
could catch a glimpse of the Ae-45 behind and above us, spiralling in laborious
fashion, for Mr Zajko’s airplane, being twin-engine, and larger and heavier
than our Meta-Sokol, was less nimble.
We dropped from the cloud-cover some 200 metres above the ground. Being
in those parts of the country for the first time I did not recognise anything
on the ground. The captain asked me for my position, which I indicated to him
on the map: about 5-8 km east from Choceň. He nodded and pointed with his chin
towards some road on the ground, which I was to follow. And, indeed, after a
few minutes I saw in the distance the railway station, and an airfield with
hangars to the left of it: Choceň! I joined the circuit and landed, with the
Ae-45 in tight formation next to us. I asked captain Kuna whether that road was
just his lucky guess, or whether he was familiar with the area – he used to fly
from an air force base nearby, was the reply.
On another occasion I flew him in an Ae-45 from Vajnory to Poprad, where
he was to test some pilots who congregated there from entire Slovakia to take
advantage of mountain wave conditions. During such wave at Poprad airport a
very strong wind of variable intensity used to blow. I did not succeed
landing on my first attempt, having been tossed by a gust of wind. The airport
being fairly long I tried to land again – unsuccessful! My third attempt was
also un-sucessful and I decided to abort and repeat the circuit. Kuna asked if
he could try it: be my guest, I said. He grabbed the controls and landed the
airplane as smoothly as if there was no wind at all!!! On the ground, however,
it was impossible for us to turn the airplane back to the hangars, for the wind
was forcing us to face it towards itself. I had to jump out, hold a wing and
canter beside the airplane the entire length of the runway, about 2 kilometres,
to the hangars…
The third episode, viewed through the rear looking mirror of memories
had an aura of some strange foreboding.
In order to fly aerobatics as low as 100 metres above ground I was being
tested by Kuna for “low” aerobatics, which is “high “ aerobatics flown close to
the ground. We were in Z-226, which is an airplane where the pilot sits in the
rear seat, the examiner in the front one. The airplane’s engine was
under-powered for even one person, let alone for two; visibility from the rear
seat was not perfect even without the obstruction represented by the passenger
in the front. I flew every figure asked for by Kuna, both in normal flight and
in the inverted one, and at the end he asked for a roll close to the ground.
“Under 100 metres?”, I asked. “Yes!”, was the reply.
Along the northern edge of the airfield, in the direction from Rendez, I
dropped the airplane to about 10 metres above the ground, lifted the nose a little and performed the roll. “One more, and lower!”, asked Kuna. I
returned to the initial position, dropped the airplane to maybe 5 metres, and
performed the roll. For the third time, he asked for another roll, but “lower
still!”. This time I dropped the airplane so that the undercarriage was almost
touching the grass and rolled the airplane again. “Once more, but lower
still!!!”, he screamed in an unnaturally sounding voice. I throttled the engine
back for a moment, so that I could be heard, and said “I AM NOT SUICIDAL!”
Kuna, as if snapping from a trance, replied in an almost unnaturally calm
sounding voice “It’s o.k., let’s land.” I landed the airplane, and when we
stepped out Kuna on the wing penned in my Book of Flying Records his permit to
fly aerobatics to 100 metres above the ground.
Some four years after this episode Kuna committed suicide.
He was the best pilot I ever had the honour to fly with.
Gliding
Flying on powered airplanes all my career I was always looking with a
degree of envy at the glider pilots, with their handsome, slow and quiet
machines. On occasions I flew with few friends among them: with Standa Šumpík in Blaník above Vajnory in a mountain wave
conditions; with Ivan Lednár in a Kmotr above Malé Karpaty mountains. He asked
me to show him how to perform a loop, but when I started the airplane began to
creek something horrid, and the loop had to be aborted; and with Olda Bílek in
a primitive Pionýr. I never found time to get the gliding licence.
I left Vajnory and flying in 1968 and did not fly for the next 35 years. Shortly before retiring I joined the aero club Mangalore at the Locksley airfield. My first flight took place in a Blaník. 80-years old Max Carpenter was in the instructor’s seat and was telling me what to do during the winch take-off. I managed everything allright, but it did not feel right, the long years of interruption were very palpable. Also, I was struggling with flying in thermals, and I needed perhaps 2 or 3 hours with an instructor to be able to stay up for prolonged period of time by myself. After Mangalore I joined the aero club at Benalla, and continued in my favourite airplane, two-seater IS-28. It had gliding ratio about 1:28, and on it I used to spend 2-3 memorable hours in the air on many an occasion. I had no great ambitions, either in time, or the distance flown. The small triangle of about 50 kilometres from the airfield, with its corners above Euroa, Lake Nillahcootie and Wangaratta, was entirely sufficient for me. After few hours I was promoted to a single-seater Junior, later Mosquito, both with performance superior to the two-seaters (but I always gladly came back to the IS-28, or Blaníks).
One day in 2007, in a beautiful gliding weather some 2000 metres above
Wangaratta, a thought crossed my mind, out of the blue: “What do you need all
this for?”, and I replied to myself “For nothing!”. I decided on the spot that
after some 50 years of flying this moment is the right one for me to stop. I
climbed up to the base of the cloud above me, and then began a long descent
towards the airfield, some 50 kilometres distant. On the way I had to fight
natural temptation to utilise upward air currents and use the downward currents
instead. After landing I found that the airplane (IS-28, VH-WVV) was not needed
on the day, so I hitched it behind the tractor and towed it to the hangar.
There I cleaned it, bedded it down in the hangar, jumped in the car and went
home. From home I emailed the aero club that I have no intention of renewing my
soon-to-expire licence, and that I am resigning my membership in the club as
well. From that day I feel I accomplished in flying everything I ever wanted,
and I do not feel any temptation to return. Almost…
Between the years of 1955 and 2007 I clocked some 700 flying hours on gliders and powered airplanes. I had no accident, no mishaps; I never bent or scratched any airplane! During that time I met hundreds of good people, and I am in touch with many of them to this day.
A few memorable moments.
- Circling in a thermal in Z-226 tug, with the
tow rope dangling behind, with a flock of storks above Malé Karpaty mountains;
- Circling in a thermal in a Mosquito with three
pelicans in a formation above Benalla;
- Circling in a Z-126 around fast-growing
cumulonimbus up to 4800 metres above Pezinok. As a bonus, from my height I
could see Austrian Airlines Vickers Viscount deep below me slowly climbing up on its way from
Vienna to Warsaw;
- Evading collision with a jet airliner Tu-124,
about 300 metres above ground in the vicinity of Průhonice.
During this flight I flew an L-200 with 4 passengers on board from Prague-Ruzyně back to Bratislava. We were on course, at 300 metres above the ground, about 30 kilometres to the east from the Ruzyně airport when I glimpsed directly ahead a silhouette of a jet airliner, some 3-4 kilometres distant, heading straight towards me. Our airspeed was about 280 kmh, that of the airliner’s some 500-600 kmh. Before I had time to evaluate the situation the mutual distance became so small that I had to put my airplane into steep dive. The airliner zipped past about 50 metres above us; I could hear the roar of its engines and saw that he was lifting his wing in the process of initiating an evasive manoeuvre. Its captain told me later on that he saw my airplane only as a fleeting reflection against the sun as it was beginning to dive. My four passengers, having loosened their seat belts after take-off, were tossed to the roof by my dive; subsequent recovery from the dive slammed them helter-skelter back to their seats…
Some airplane types I have flown on:
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