Pirates of
Atlantic Highlands
A Jack and The Phantom aerial adventure as
told by The Phantom himself
By now, I’m sure you’ve all
heard of the movie Pirates of the Caribbean that is reported to be quite a
swashbuckling adventure. Would you dare to go back in time to relive those days
of yesteryear when bloodthirsty pirates like Blackbeard and Captain Kidd roamed
the seas in search of unsuspecting prey? Well, let me tell you young laddies a
little story that will shiver your timbers for sure. Believe it or not,
matey.
The year was 1989. It was mid
summer. A fleet of tall sailing ships had sailed into New York harbor and were
anchored there for a big festival that the city was holding this particular
weekend. Two years prior to this the FAA yanked my medical because of a
recurring war injury, so I started flying ultralight aircraft out of a small
airstrip near Great Adventure park. I had picked up a slightly used Phantom from
a fellow over at Twin Pines Airport. It wasn't the fanciest set of wings I had
ever flown but it sure beat standing on the ground looking wistfully skyward. In
my own opinion, due to my extensive military and civilian flight experience, I
was quite a hotshot pilot who was willing to fly anywhere and try anything given
the opportunity and means.
One of my best flying friends at that time was a fellow named Jack aka "The Colonel" who had a Tierra that looked like it was covered with duck tape. He had been flying ultralights since the early 80’s himself, and according to people who knew him well, he once was a Korean War ace who had earned quite a personal reputation in the skies over the Yalu River aka “Mig Alley”. Jack never wanted to talk much about it unless he was drinking with me which was often. He was a happy go lucky kind of guy with a twinkle in his eye who obviously loved flying, his beer, women, and a good laugh not necessarily in that order depending on the time of day. Having a lot of spare time on his hands after retiring from the Air Force, he was ready to go raise hell at a moments notice.
Some days we would fly low
along the Bay Head beach and cut kite strings and other times we would go land
on little islands in Barnegat Bay and dare each other to wait as the tide came
in just to see who would blink first and take off. Usually it was me as Jack had
no fear whatsoever. I guess you had to have that trait if you were able to take
out three Migs at once without firing a shot but that's another story for
another time. One time he actually landed a Weedhopper at McGuire AFB and was
immediately surrounded by 18 year old M-16 carrying nervous AP's. Once the base
commander who incidentally used to be one of Jack's jet jockey cronies found out
who the intruder was, Jack was given a hero’s sendoff with a promise of a wild
night at the base Officer's Club asap. One time we actually buzzed the main
building at Lakewood Airport because Jack said the FBO was a pal but I later
found out otherwise. And you guys wonder why ultralights are not welcome there
even to this day. Yes sir, we sure were pretty wild and crazy guys in those
glory days. No matter, we always had a grand time together and spent hours
laughing about what we did practically every evening in the Cassville Tavern
until the wee hours of the morning when we were always tossed out, the last
customers time and time again.
So anyway, one bright and
sunny Sunday, after a particularly long and dark evening at the bar the night
before, Jack and I were itching for a new flying adventure. Since the tall ships
were in town and not that far away from our airstrip, we figured today would be
a good time to go pay them a little visit.
As we flew towards Sandy Hook,
I called over to Jack that there was a nude beach at the state park there. Of
course Jack was more than a little intrigued by the possibility of catching a peek at the young ladies in their
birthday suits so we made darn certain that this location was along our flight
paths. Me, I would just waggle my wings and wave at the girls as I passed by
overhead, but Jack, being the lecherous dirty old man that he was, would drop
little pieces of paper with his phone number scribbled on them as he cut his
engine and whistled. I don’t know if he ever got a return call from some young
chickie looking for an "airplane ride”, but knowing Jack, I’m certain that his
list of conquests was ever growing.
Soon afterwards, we flew over
towards Atlantic Highlands where many of the tall ships were anchored. I had
this thing about flying my Kawasaki powered Phantom over long stretches of deep
water like New York Harbor so after putting up with Jack’s teasing me about how
none of his Korean War wingmen ever had a problem about things like that, he
finally agreed to limit our over water flying to the Highlands area where if my
engine suddenly decided to take a dump like it had been known to do in the past,
I could at least hopefully be able to do a beach landing.
Regardless, there were quite a
few of the tall ships anchored right where we were, and many were decked out in
colorful flags all up along their rigging. We circled around and buzzed over as
many as we could find, each of us daring the other to get closer and closer, to
see if we could get a reaction from the crewmembers who were all up on deck
watching our impromptu air show for their benefit. I could get the Phantom to do
a loop but Jack could do things with that modified Tierra of his that would make
you shake your head in wonder. Would you believe rolls and inverted flight at
100 feet? That was Jack. He once told me that his F-86 was a little more
responsive to control inputs, but the Tierra was a heckuva lot more fun to fly,
and fly it he sure did.
One particular tall ship stood out from the rest and was anchored a distance away from the main fleet. This one appeared to be like something that Christopher Columbus would have sailed on. It wasn’t all spiffy looking like the other ships, but rather it was dark and imposing looking.
Jack and I decided to head
over that way to get a better look and passed by directly over the tallest of
the three masts. Down below on deck towards the ship’s stern was a man with a
big bushy beard who appeared to be waving at us. We figured that this friendly
fellow deserved another pass so we swung around for another low flyover directly
amidships. I imagined that we were on a torpedo run as we flew side by side
towards the ship at wavetop height planning for a quick pullup at the last
second.
As we closed the distance,
from about the middle of the vessel I observed what appeared to be puffs of
smoke and winking lights and thought it neat that they were signaling at us
until I noticed a large splash in the water directly ahead of me. Another splash
landed right off of Jack’s right wing. Jeepers creepers, they were shooting
at us! With cannons no less!
Jack came on the CB and said
he felt like he was back in the old days and said perhaps we ticked them off a
little with our simulated attack and those guys needed to be taught a lesson. I
said what are you crazy? I already knew the answer to that one. All of a sudden,
another cannonball splashed right in front of the Phantom and sent a wall of
water over the top of the plane. The engine shuddered and slowed down a few
hundred rpms, but thankfully kept running.
I yelled to Jack that I was in
trouble as I staggered the plane over the ship, barely missing the rear mast and
that was when I noticed that the flag flying in the wind just above the crow's
nest was a Jolly Roger, the notorious skull and crossbones of pirates. Jack came
back on the radio saying that the fellow with the beard wasn’t waving, but
rather shaking his fist at us. Oh boy!
I couldn’t believe that somebody would actually fire on us, I mean, these guys, pirates or whoever they were, had no sense of humor whatsoever. We were thankfully putting distance between us and the old sailing ship. Up ahead were the cliffs of Atlantic Highlands. Jack asked if I thought I could climb over them and I replied that the way my engine was starting to sound it was doubtful if I could even make it to a beach. I was at full throttle and barely holding altitude. This was a fine mess indeed, Ollie!
There I was barely 50 feet
above the bay, with a rough running engine, miles from home, and worse, I had to
pee so bad my left leg was shaking and I couldn’t keep the darn rudder straight.
This is what happens when you get the living daylights scared out of you and
reality sets in. I knew that sooner or later fate was going to catch up with
either one of us and today it looked like my number was up for sure. The old
saying about old bold pilots kept running through my mind like a stuck
record.
Jack came back on the radio
mumbling about how he was going to get that SOB and with that my engine just
gave up and quit right then and there barely 200 feet from shore. Before I had
the chance to even try to loosen my harness the plane hit the water with a big
SPLOOSH and stopped almost instantly and sank almost as fast. I sucked in a
quick breath of air as the world suddenly turned wet and dark as I dropped below
the surface, headed straight for Davey Jones locker. Struggling with the belt
clips I knew that I only had a short time to get free or it would be the end of
the road for this puppy.
I struggled and struggled for what seemed like forever before the release buckle pulled free and I swam to the surface. Gasping for air, I saw that the shore was not that far away and kicking off my sneakers, I swam towards it. Luckily I was wearing only a T-shirt and shorts so they didn’t hinder me in any way. With everything else that went wrong this day, at least I had that going for me. As I treaded water I was able to at least relieve my overstretched bladder. The hell with the EPA. Good thing I 'm a fair swimmer but a lifejacket would have been nice. Unfortunately it was safe and sound back in my flightbox at the field. So much for that.
I could see Jack circling
above me but all I could hope for is that he would go get some help, maybe even
try to raise somebody on the radio to call the Marine Police or better yet the
Coast Guard which had a station nearby on Sandy Hook and plenty of firepower. I
mean, those crazies who fired on us were a menace to society. As if we weren't
in some people's opinion.
As I swam, Jack cut his engine
and glided over me. He whistled and yelled that it looked like a boat was being
launched from the pirate ship. Just great! That’s all I needed to hear. Somehow
this motivated me to swim even harder and I dragged myself up on the beach like
a sopping wet bilge rat.
Looking out to the bay, I
could see a large rowboat with about eight men on board including our bearded
friend headed directly my way. I had nowhere to run as I looked around. The
beach I was on was backed by a cliff and stretched perhaps a couple hundred feet
either way before it ended with tall jagged boulders, which I knew were
unclimbable in my bare feet.
Once again Jack buzzed
overhead and waggled his wings. The rowboat was no more than perhaps 75 yards
away and I could clearly see the evil sneer on the bearded man’s face which sent
a cold chill through my heart. Suddenly shots rang out! Bullets whizzed over my
head. I started to run towards the boulders even though I knew that it was a
futile attempt to get away. Darn clamshells were cutting the bottoms of my feet.
Things were not looking good.
Hearing a Rotax at full
throttle, I saw Jack swing the Tierra around and head for the rowboat. Flying at
wavetop level as fast as the bird would travel which wasn’t much he knocked at
least two of the men into the water with his landing gear. More shots rang out
as Jack wheeled around for another pass. I ran as hard as I could for the end of
the beach as once more Jack flew low over the oncoming rowboat, knocking more
men into the water. The fellow with the beard was yelling and pointing at Jack
and me as the remaining men tried to hoist those who were knocked overboard back
into the boat.
Suddenly Jack turned the
Tierra around and landed on the beach in one quick motion, taxiing right up to
me and swung the tail around. Saved! With that thought, the plane's engine just
quit.
What the hell you
shut it off for???? I yelled.
I didn’t. It did it
all by itself!
Out of the corner of my eye I
could see the men on the boat rowing strongly. The current had taken them
slightly behind us and they were attempting to get to shore as hard as they
could. Another shot rang out and the bullet passed by my ear. Too
close!
Jack was cussing a blue streak
while trying to start the engine with no luck when I suddenly noticed that the
fuel pump pulse line had been nicked by a stray pistol shot. Ripping off the
damaged tubing with shaking hands, I quickly pulled apart the break and
reconnected the good end onto the side of the engine. Jack pulled the starter
rope one more time and the engine instantly roared to life. Get on he yelled! I
grabbed onto the wing strut and braced myself against the landing gear as Jack
punched the throttle. The plane started to move slowly on the sand and to my
horror I saw that the bearded one was running up behind us along with several of
his men. I could see smoke coming from their pistols but couldn’t hear anything
over the roar of the engine.
It seemed like forever but
somehow Jack was able to lift off just as the pirates were practically upon us.
With my extra weight on the left side Jack was having difficulty clearing the
boulders at the end of the beach as he struggled for altitude but that old
master of flight did it! I breathed
a long sigh of relief as I saw the men on the beach rapidly receding as we
slowly climbed away. They certainly were not waving goodbye at us.
After what seemed like forever and praying a zillion times that the engine would keep running, we finally made it back to our home airstrip. My arms were just about ready to give out from holding on to the strut but given the alternative, I’ll take tired arms any day over being captured by Blackbeard the Pirate or whoever the heck he was. Jack gently set the plane down to a picture perfect soft landing and as the plane coasted to a stop at the end of our runway, I just fell off onto the cool damp grass in exhaustion. Jack shut the plane down and climbed out, walking over to where I lay. The sudden silence was deafening.
You okay
kid?
Yeah, I guess
Colonel. Thanks, man. I owe you big time.
Ah, was nothing you
wouldn't have done for me.
Should we call the
cops?
Probably wouldn’t
hurt. After all, your plane is still out there in the drink.
Yeah it unfortunately was. So
we called the cops and they went out there and found the Phantom in 50 feet of
water and dragged it ashore. What was left of it after they got done playing
Rescue One was enough to make a grown man cry! The pirate ship and Blackbeard?
Yeah right. Gone. What pirate ship? They accused us of also believing in Batman
and Robin without a doubt. Maybe even the Silver Surfer.
It ended up costing me a ton
of cash to get my plane back not to even begin mentioning the task of explaining
over and over to all the cops in the world what we were doing out there in the
first place considering a few complaints had been forwarded to the FAA about low
flying aerobatic planes over the bay. Jack said it couldn’t have been us. No way
Jose! We were just sightseeing the pretty sailboats in our little puddle jumpers
and some clown with a beard started using us for target practice for absolutely
no reason at all. Besides, after looking at Jack’s raggedy Tierra the fuzz
figured that nobody in their right mind would do barrel rolls in that thing let
alone even go off the ground. I guess they figured that anybody dumb enough to
go flying in something like that wasn't wrapped too tight and shouldn't be taken
very seriously. Good thing they didn't consider ultralights real airplanes or
perhaps they just were not up to all the paperwork involved if say something
like my old Waco had taken a dunk instead. Case closed. Almost.
One of the FAA guys who came out to our airstrip the following day asked Jack what the hook and gauntlet found hanging from his rudder was for. Both of us just looked at each other and started laughing wondering if some bearded dude would ever call saying his "hand" was missing. Oops! Sorry about that. Many more beers and chuckles were in store at the old Cassville that night for sure.
What a day! This little aerial adventure, although costly, was a 10 as far as we were concerned. The adrenalin rush had me wound up for days afterward. Jack helped me rebuild the Phantom as good as new, replacing that Kawasaki with a brand new 503 Rotax, even painting the nose pod to look like his old squadron colors, the USAF Thunderbirds. Did we ever have a better adventure? An 11? Only “The Phantom” knows. If you fellows enjoyed this one, maybe someday I’ll write another tale of the wild blue involving Colonel Jack and myself for your club. Drop an e-mail to Uncle Fred and let him know.
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