Exercise Whooper Finn Field Report No. 5

The fourth week has been as adventure filled as the first three, and the flying became extremely challenging without warning, but more of that later.

Valdosta in Southern Georgia was a pleasant place to wait out another weather front as it rolled over the top of us, bringing no relief from the high temperatures and humidity. It is too hot to sleep at night as the temperature only drops to the high 70s and the humidity increases even more.

We decided to try some research from the ground while we waited, so we drove off in the van to investigate 4 possibilities which were marked on our maps. The first one was called Rocky Ford and we eventually found ourselves on Rocky Ford Road by using road maps, air charts and our small, hand held Global Positioning System which is a device the size of a mobile phone which tells us where we are on the planet's surface to within a few feet. However, in a place like Georgia, most of the rural areas are densely wooded and open fields, visible from the road are a complete rarity. We couldn't find the airstrip, so we stopped to ask a local man working in his garden. He told that he had lived in this house for 80 years and that there was no airstrip in the area. Confused, we drove on, only to find the airstrip a mile and a half from his house.

This has not been a unique experience. People in America are genuinely helpful and friendly, but those who live in rural communities appear extremely parochial. The ground crew have been directed to airfields 20 miles away by locals genuinely trying to help, when the airport, and I mean AIRPORT has been less than a mile away.

The same is true of pilots and airport managers all across this part of the world. There are
lots of beautiful private strips where a large aeroplane could land in comfort, owned and maintained by some of the nicest people you would ever want to meet. However, if you ask many of these peopole who are the owners of another strip more than a couple of miles away, they just don't know. They never fly to them even though most local light aeroplane pilots never seem to fly much more than 50 miles from their home base.

This seems to reflect the character of the people here. They largely wish to remain private and seem to stay in their local area for most of their lives. Perhaps it's to do with the size and scale of America that few people travel out of state, let alone overseas. Certainly though, there is a strong desire to travel to Europe and especially to visit Ireland. If all the people we have met who have expressed a desire to visit Ireland ever get around to travelling, then look out everyone at home, it will be standing room only during the tourist season.

I have heard it said that there are 30 million Americans who claim to be Irish, but this must be a conservative estimate. Everywhere we have been we have met someone who is American Irish with a familiar sounding Irish name, and most can trace Irish ancestry. This of course helps us greatly and is a tremendous introduction everywhere we go. If you come from Ireland, North or South, you will have the warmest of welcomes awaiting you in the Southern States.

Back to finding Whooping Crane stopover sites by road. Rocky Ford turned out to be unsuitable and despite our best efforts, we could not find any of the other three sites. Researching a route by road would be impossible, simply because we were unable to see more than 20 feet off either side of the highway for the majority of the time.

Next day we headed North as we needed to be back in Indiana on Saturday for the first crew changeover. The first flight of the day was a smooth affair and we landed at Souther Field, the place where Charles Lindbergh learned to fly, to meet up with the ground crew and refuel. The temperature was rising, and as we took off, the thermals and breeze started to bump the aircraft around. We climbed to the smoother but cooler air at 7,500 feet. Our destination was a research site, a small strip called 'Jumpin J' South of Atlanta, set amongst hundreds of square miles of pine forest. As we descended to approach it became obvious that the wind had strengthened and the thermals from the forest were particularly strong.

Close to the ground, the conditions became wild and it was vividly apparent where 'Jumping J' got its name. Only a controlled crash would have been possible there, so we climbed up a little and headed further North. The conditions deteriorated more as the full heating of the sun took effect.

Roosevelt Memorial Airfield, the next alternative proved just as difficult, so a larger airfield called Pine Mountain, some 15 miles away was selected as the best option. At least it looked as thought the wind would be more favourable on this runway. Fierce turbulence buffeted the craft on the way down. The landing exercised the whole of the pilot skill range. Finally, after an hour and a half of Arnold Schwarzenegger workout, we both breathed a sigh of relief and taxied to the shelter of the trees where we parked the machine until the heat started to die down.

We arrived at Cedartown half an hour before sunset and were puzzled by the sight of many vehicles parked on the perimeter roads surrounding the airfield. This turned out to be the local prison. Having lost a prisoner earlier in the day, this was the posse surrounding the airfield, the area where he was last seen. Shades of Tommy Lee Jones in 'The Fugitive' sprung to mind. Far from being Richard Kimble, this fugitive escaped wearing nothing more than his underpants and a pair of boots, 30 days into a 120 day sentence. Not very bright, especially as escaping from custody could bring a 5 year sentence! The prison wagons and police cars patrolled the whole area all night. I offered to take one of the officers for a search flight in the morning, but before that, the felon emerged from the forest and gave himself up. I think the mosquitoes dined well that night!

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