Flying a TBM Sortie

Unless there was a complicating factor like a really long range operation from the interior of the Province to the Bay of Fundy blocks in which fuel considerations and emergency procedures had to be reviewed, formal briefings were not a regular occurence. We all knew our jobs thoroughly and there wasn't much difference between spray blocks except for their location. A lot of information was distributed through the reliable old grapevine. The camp watchman, or "Human Alarm Clock", would go to all the quarters and get everyone up for breakfast. Usually they were very satisfactory despite the usual complaints from the malcontent TBM pilots. Always remember that a TBM pilot was never truly happy unless he had something to be unhappy about. After the meal we'd head back to the quarters, traditionally called "Ponderosas", where we'd gather our flight equipment and fumble in the darkness out to the flight line possibly braving the local carnivorous beasts which might be lurking in the woods adjacent to the path. Once you got to your machine, you got serious about things and started your walk around to check things like the hydraulic accumulator in the back (about 1,000 lbs psi), fuel samples for water, making sure that there was sufficient oil (about 25 US gallons) and that all the other parts were attached. Still, I would always be seized by a curiosity, eerie perhaps, as to where the dew covered mute in front of me had been in it's years. Finally you'd climb in and get her started for the warm up. The mornings were cool and there was plenty of oil smoke from the bottom cylinders and the engine would thump and bark a little as it protested being awakened. Actual backfiring was frowned upon and possibly you'd owe the ground crew some beer if you broke something in the process. Once the start had stabilised and we were waiting for the oil temperature to climb (Minimum 30° C.) you buckled on your parachute and did your harness up as you got ready for a busy morning. The team lead would get a clearance over to the "pits" for the load of "goop"(insecicide), for the team. In years bygone, there was a fierce competition for pit position with actual fights nearly erupting as a result of real or imagined cheating by a competing team in order to get a potential extra load as spray conditions deteriorated later in the morning and the pits would close before the others could load up. In later seasons, a much saner policy of equal pay regardless of the sorties flown cooled that sort of behaviour down considerably. As well, it was safer because pilots were less reluctant to report snags if it meant that they wouldn't be penalised by missing a trip and the pay for it. While in the "pits" the team lead would get the Block, Line and Echelon information from the tower which would relay the numbers from the Cessna "pointer" teams who were orbiting the initial point out on the block. The number two would also note the information in case the lead developed a mechanical problem at any time during the spray session and the number two would have to take over as leader. Sometimes, towards the end of the spray season, we'd shuttle from block to block as we mopped up. This meant delays on the ground whilst the powers that be decided on what was left to be finished. One time at Sevogle, I was the lead on a two plane formation with the late Andy Haden, who had been a MIG-15 pilot in the Hungarian Air Force during the early '50s. I was lined up on the centreline of the runway with the tailwheel locked and ready to go but still awaiting confirmation and release to the block. As we waited, Andy got impatient and I heard over the radio: "Poke-air Lead, dees ess Poke-air Two. Vhat ees goink on?" I responded, "Poker Two, this is Poker Lead, check that is classified information." I really didn't know for sure either. Finally, we launched and bounced around in the hills touching up a little here and a little bit there. After we finished and I was unharnessing after parking the plane I looked down to see Andy's ursine shape and he took me to task for not letting him in on the information earlier. He threatened to show me his passport to prove his loyalty and then we both had a good laugh over it. Take offs were a serious business. After a run up and the departure clearance, I would start to bring up the power for a reference check as the team lead released his brakes. As soon as he broke ground, I'd release brakes and bring up the power to 46" of manifold pressure. With glance at the temperature and pressure guages and the airspeed indicator starting to flicker with life, attention was paid to herding the beast down the narrow runway. Pilot technique varied. Some liked to take off nearly from the three point attitude and others would be inclined to get the tail up and rotate at 85 knots indicated airspeed. Once you were airborne, the undercarriage wasn't of much use to you if the engine quit over the bush so you promptly retracted it. I'd roll into a low turn away from the centre line to clear the way for the number three.The departing aircraft were maneuvered to take the outbound track to the pointers as a loose formation. An enormous burden fell on the team leader's shoulders as he was expected to navigate accurately. His team mates would become cross with him if he missed the pointers, for then the team would have to turn around like a trio of circus pachyderms with the trunk of one holding onto the tail of the one ahead. Once the pointers were spotted about five miles back the leader would begin the descent to the spray altitude and the other team members would maneuver to position themselves on the correct side and distance(440 feet) from the leader. The fuel and spray system checks were called out by the leader and the team would pass under the pointer at the correct heading. At the command of the pointer the spraying would start. At the end of a spray line, the command to turn off the booms and turn was given and the team would execute a turn in which the lead would reverse direction and the remaining members would follow with 100 feet of vertical separation. The TBM wasn't a children's airplane when it was being worked at low level it was both hands on the pole and with left turns it helped to get your right knee pushing on the stick as well. My left hand would become calloused where I'd hold the throttle. We'd pull sufficient Gs that I could see the water vapour condensing to make twirling ribbons on the lead's wing tips. So on about the fourth run on a typical morning spray session with the sun shining brightly and the associated convection and mechanical turbulence becoming established your head would bang between the sides of the canopy. And with the heat from the sun, through the canopy, the engine roaring, the fatigue and a mild hangover setting in it wasn't exactly the equivalent of taking the champagne flight on the Concorde. With the pits closed at the command of the chief pointer due to the deteriorating conditions and with two of the three team members gooped out we headed 'er home. We'd tighten up coming over the strip and would break overhead for spacing and landing. The Avenger was nice just rolling out of the turn on short final with full flaps gear down and locked canopy open at 75 knots indicated chop the power and it would three point nicely. All in all, it was the best flying of my life and I'll never forget those wonderful days.

......"A TBM Pilot"