Hi Charlie,
Here is another version of the chasing story as I told it to Len Sherman out West. You can use it if you like, and put your own spin on it where I have made any obvious goofs.
I mentioned a model chasing story with lots of squalor, so here is one version of the event: It was a nice day, but fairly windy as the morning went on. I put up my three two minute flights in Mulvihill the last
of which, due to the considerable East wind, went to the edge of the field which is marked by a wide and deep (swamp draining) ditch. Just before my three minute flight, Tom McCoy, who you probably know, launched a beautiful cabin job into the damnedest thermal you ever saw. It not only went up, but the plane was zooming, that is the only word I can think of, at a terrific speed. Know what I mean? To be cautious, I alerted my timer that I would launch from the East-most, upwind, point of the field. I wound, we jumped in the truck, launched at the edge of the field bordered with trees. Mistake, or at least almost. The turbulence spilling over the trees made a lawnmower out of my model for 50 yards or so. But finally, and in thinking back unfortunately, it rose majestically, as they say, into a boomer. The chase was on. I purposely had a short fuse and it went off at three minutes. But Len, it was so high, and not coming down. From the West edge of the field I watched it OOS into the SWAMP. In the swamp live very large Eastern diamond back rattle snakes, wild boar (no kidding) gators, and all the other nasty things on Noah's boat. But heck, at 6' 4" I am at the top of the food chain, right? A marathon runner of considerable stamina, a dead-reckoning navigator of considerable esteem from the deserts of Eastern Washington. And stupid.
So, Tom's plane launched moments before was also in the Swamp, also known as the Upper St. Johns River Marsh, Type ll Wildlife Management Area. 153,680 acres of land, marsh and water bodies dedicated to control flooding and recharging the Florida aquifer (drinking water supply), and also recreation (hunting).
There was no "legal" entry point to the property from our flying field; the wide, deep ditch separates us. But we put together a search party, three of us, Tom, fearless Charlie Hendrickson, and me armed with walky-talkies for communication with civilization. We take off our shoes, wade the ditch, put the shoes back on, climb the levee, and boldly go into the bushes to the cadence of the Walston's chirp - chirp. We found Tom's plane about 45 minutes out. We send him back. Charlie and I continued another mile or so then decided it would be prudent to turn around, since the signal was not getting noticeably louder. We had also heard that there was another access point to the "Park" considerably down-wind from the flying field. So we turned around and walked back out. After making it back, re-crossing the ditch, etc. we had probably been walking for about 2 hours. A friend, Joe Clawson, volunteered to show me the Westernmost park entrance, since my plan was to try to get West of the plane and walk (no motorized vehicles allowed in the "park") Southeast to the model.
The West entrance is really remote, several miles on a dirt road after the pavement ends. Nowhere. I got a good signal from the parking area so I set out with some water, crackers, and a plan to walk one hour in and one hour out, no more. Then, of course, after reaching the first tree line, I go for the next tree line, until after a couple hours the signal went crazy. But, finally another impassable ditch - lots of water and mud, no way in my
state of exhaustion. But, believe it or not, parallel to the ditch, on the other side - a nice smooth dirt road! At this point, I am really in the boonies. So here I am, the plane can't be more than 100 yards, and I can't go another foot. By this time it is 4:30 or so, and I have a two hour walk to get back to square one before dark, before I go to my knees. It's hot. I am tired. Well, I made it back, with my only reference a really tall red and white antenna in the distance, Northeast of my position. Len, in Florida you can get lost easily - you never get a "view" of anything since it is so flat. All you can see is the next bush in front of you - that is the horizon.
I finally get back, with the last drop of my water long since gone. Then the big break. A County Sheriff's deputy and a Game Warden officer are chatting on the levee, which was my starting point. After a short conversation about the ditch and road I saw, they volunteered to try to find it by truck. I hop in and off we go, although I am really in no shape to continue. Well, somehow, with their knowledge of the terrain and my radio signal, we found the ditch and the road where I was forced to stop earlier in the day! From there, my plane was no more than 30 yards off the road, but the toughest 30 yards through a thicket of reeds from hell! The few yards was almost more than I could take. What an ordeal. I later figured I had walked approx. 18 to 20 miles total in the 7 hour ordeal.
I thanked the sheriff and game warden, got their cards and supervisors names so I can write some nice atta-boy letters. They were genuinely nice, helpful guys. Professionals. The drive home was at my limit of endurance, drinking fluids all the way. A shower and off to bed. I heard the chirp of the Walston in my head all night long, no kidding. And leg cramps! "Not enough electrolytes in the fluids I was drinking," my bright son explains the next day.
It could have been worse. I did get the plane and transmitter back and had a great adventure, which is what they all are if you live to tell about it, eh? Now, no need to preach to me about safety, prudence, etc. - been there, learned that. No more chasing in wild terrain unless I triangulate the location of the model by road first. If that is not possible, then tough luck. Planes and transmitters are cheap, in the big picture. Also, an expedition, properly planned, equipped and well rested the next day would have been the best idea. I didn't even bother taking the plane apart when I got home. The transmitter was chirping away just fine at noon on Sunday, some 30 hours later. Freeflight forever!
Best regards, Thurman
