As Willy did his eyes were attracted by the wink of sunlight off to his right. He saw that it was caused by reflection from a corrugated iron roof. As he focused on the shine he noted that it was among a cluster of buildings set among trees along a river bank about two kilometres to starboard. But even more obvious was a long, wide open area running parallel to the buildings. Along the centre of the open area was a reddish coloured area of soil that Willy saw could only be an airstrip.
“There’s an airfield at that station,” he said, pointing towards it.
Mr Drew nodded. “I see it. We should make it alright.” With that he eased the aircraft gently around, explaining as he did that a sharp turn could cause a greater loss of altitude through side slip. “Always try to keep things steady, except in a real emergency,” Mr Drew added.
“This isn’t a real emergency?” Willy managed to joke as he anxiously studied the distance still to be covered.
Mr Drew gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No, only if we’d had to crash land among the trees back there. Now, what did you say was the name of this place?” he said.
“Whetstone Station,” Willy replied after checking his map. “But there is no airfield or landing ground marked.”
“Looks new,” Mr Drew commented. “But still, it should have been listed in NOTAMS (Notices to Airmen and Mariners).” He then radioed the Race Control and reported where they were trying to land.
As they glided towards the airstrip Willy was able to study it better. He saw that it looked very new, lots of bare, graded gravel with short strips of bitumen at each end. There was even a bright new windsock and a shiny shed near the homestead.
“Definitely new,” he agreed.
Willy studied the area, noting open paddocks and then the river beyond the end of the airstrip. Dirt roads led off to the west and north from that point. Beyond the river was a line of hills in which the angular slopes of Mt Whetstone stood out in stark silhouette.
As Mr Drew turned the aircraft into line with the strip Willy studied the buildings. The airstrip was set among savannah woodland with the usual fences and vehicle tracks he associated with cattle properties. On the left, between the river and the airfield and at the far end of the strip were the buildings, a dozen at least, but they also appeared quite normal to Willy. He had seen a dozen such places that day and they had all looked like a village with sheds and stables and houses and storerooms.
“It looks a nice place,” he commented, noting a large L-shaped homestead beyond the shiny new hangar and store sheds. Beyond them was a line of buildings snuggled into the trees on top of the river bank. The glint of water led his eye to note a weir or dam with an obvious pump house off to the left. Several other sheds and stables extended along a street to the right of the homestead. Horses stood in a set of yards behind the last of the buildings. A few cattle dotted the paddocks off to the right.
Willy then turned his attention back to the landing as they swept in over the boundary fence of the strip. Mr Drew said, “At least it’s fenced and there aren’t cattle all over it.”
Willy managed a smile but could only agree, noting the shiny new fence running parallel to the strip. He also saw that the bitumen touch down at the end of the strip was shiny and black and the white painted piano keys had hardly a wheel mark on them. Mr Drew gently eased the aircraft onto this. A moment later the wheels kissed the tarmac and began humming. So smooth was the landing that Willy was quite impressed. He wanted to express his appreciation of Mr Drew’s skill but could not think of what to say beyond, “That was good!”
Mr Drew grunted with apparent satisfaction and then smiled. For a moment his eye met Willy’s. “Good! Now, let’s hope the locals are friendly.”
He steered the aircraft straight along the centre of the strip, not using the brakes at all. As he did he called Race Control to report they were safely down and asked them to inform the Air Traffic Control in Cairns.
By the time he had done this the aircraft had rolled to a standstill on the gravel a few hundred metres from the nearest building. Almost as soon as the wheels stopped rolling the heat seemed to engulf them. It was so hot that the buildings now appeared lost in shimmer. Mr Drew unclipped his safety harness and opened his door. “Let’s hop out then and see if we can get some help.”
Willy did likewise and eased himself down to the gravel. For a few moments he stood in the shade of the wing, holding the wing brace and trying to tell himself that the shaking in his legs was just the easing of cramped muscles. But he had to admit that he was very glad to be down safely and to have his boots firmly on the ground!
Mr Drew called to him and said, “Grab hold. We will push the kite off the strip, just in case some other poor bugger needs to land on it.”
Pushing such a small aircraft was easy and between them they had it on the grass verge within two minutes. That done they both stood for a minute or so, wiping perspiration and staring into the heat haze at the buildings. At last Mr Drew reached into the cabin and took out a cap. Pulling this firmly on he said, “Oh well, looks like we walk.”
The pair set of on foot. It was only half a kilometre but the air temperature was pushing forty degrees Celcius and Willy was soon sweating profusely. As he walked he looked around, noting the new fence on his left and some beef cattle standing in the shade of the straggly iron barks in the paddock beyond.
Electrified fence, he noted. Having once tried to climb over one without realizing what it was he was painfully aware of the sharp bite they could inflict. Good idea to keep the cattle and kangaroos off the runway, he thought.
“Good airstrip this,” Mr Drew commented. “Must be at least a kilometre long.”
“Maybe they have big planes land here,” Willy suggested.
Mr Drew looked thoughtful. “That’s what I was thinking. Must have cost a packet so I suppose they must plan to use it a fair bit.”
“Perhaps they fly beef to market or something?” Willy suggested.
“Hmm. Doubt it. That wouldn’t pay. Uh, at last! Here comes someone.”
Willy looked and saw a brown 4WD ute speeding along the airstrip towards them. Seeing the speed at which it was travelling sent a tiny spurt of anxiety through him but Mr Drew just expressed relief that they would not have to walk.
The 4WD braked to a halt in a cloud of dust and both doors flew open. Men climbed out, a big, red-faced, fair-haired man from the driver’s seat and a thin faced man with longish brown hair from the other. Both were dressed in typical stockman’s clothes: elastic sided riding boots, soiled long trousers, long-sleeve shirts rolled above the elbows, battered and greasy broad brimmed hats.
The red-faced man smiled and pushed his hat back. “Bit of trouble eh?”
Mr Drew held out his hand. “Yes. Engine overheated. I’m Wally Drew from NQ Aviation.”
“Wilson Carter,” replied the other, taking the offered hand and shaking it. “This is Barry.”
Mr Drew shook hands with Barry and then Willy was introduced. He felt very shy at shaking hands with grown men but did so. As he did he got the distinct impression that Mr Carter was not very friendly and Barry’s eyes certainly did not give that impression.
Mr Drew did not seem to notice. “Can we use a few tools? I reckon it’s only an oil blockage.”
Mr Carter gestured towards the buildings. “Sure. There will be some in the hangar. Do you need a tow or something?”
“That would be nice,” Mr Drew agreed.
The vehicle was manoeuvred to a position in front of the aircraft. A tow line was quickly attached to the aircraft and to the vehicle’s tow ball. Mr Carter then said, “Barry, you and the boy travel in the back to keep an eye on the towline. Thump on the roof if I go too fast