A Tiny Piece of Heaven ... Somewhere Near Edmonton

Erik Minty - Staff Flyer

"Can I sit in it?" Tim waved me on, so (ever so careful to step only on the allowed places) I lowered myself into the rear seat of the bright yellow Waco biplane. (It's pronounced like "walk-o", not like a crazy person or a place in Texas.)

This was really a thrill, but I guess I should explain a bit of history first. I first met Tim at gliding school in the summer of '89, and even though he lives in St. Albert (just north of Edmonton), we've remained good friends over the years. When he told me he had completed his flight instructor training at long last, and was now working at the nearby flying club, I figured I had a reasonable excuse to make the trip. (So the drive out there took all of 18 hours including a detour in the Okanagan, but I had good company!) We've both gone very different directions in aviation -- I focused on gliding, going as far as completing my instructor rating, while Tim kept up the power flying, at great expense, and has even had significant training in aerobatic flying. We've never actually flown together, so one of the conditions of my visit was that we do just that.

So we followed our moses to the airport and prepared for a morning flight. We were going to fly a Citabria, which is a little two-seater that's just a treat to fly (and about which I will say more at another time!) The important fact about this particular Citabria as it relates to this story was that it wasn't there. Well, what do expect on a sunny Saturday morning in August? Turns out the folks who had it booked ahead of us just weren't quite ready to part with it, so we were left hanging around the hanger for a while.

There were a couple of Citabrias there, a little Pitts Special biplane, an absolute heartbreakingly gorgeous Grob sailplane that I drooled over for a few minutes, and, of course, the bright yellow Waco. Apparently the owner of the flying club had just too much money, so he sunk a small fortune in a tiny piece of heaven. And I found myself sitting in it, comforted on all sides by plush black leather padding in an open cockpit (the front bucket seat had no controls or instruments because it's used for sightseeing tours, so I was in the rear, of course.)

Sitting in an open cockpit, you would of course need the felt-lined, leather-padded hardshell helmet that slides oh so comfortably over your head. And a real control stick too! The kind that sits between your knees, not the awful control wheel á la Cessna that looks more like it belongs in a car. Engine controls on the left right where I would put them, and one look at the instrument panel was enough for anyone. All the standard features, but all of them as kept and polished as I've ever seen. And what's this? A GPS (Global Positioning System)! I really thought that perhaps I had died or that this was some kind of fantastic dream. I moved the controls ever so gently. It's never the same, sitting on the ground, with no real pressure on the controls, and where the aircraft doesn't respond, but even at that I knew that this beast would be a real beauty in the air.

If I wasn't dreaming before, now I must be. I left the hangar, and taxied down the runway by making giant zig-zags (because with the tailwheel on the ground, there's no way you can even begin to see over the nose of that behemoth 9-cylinder radial engine.) Went through the run-up checks. Both feet tight on the brakes, increase power. The big Waco shudders in anticipation, and I can feel every spar, strut, and anti-drag wire itching with the need to be airborne. This aircraft seems to know that it's going to fly. Cleared to takeoff, I taxi onto the runway and add full power. And full power it was indeed! That radial engine sunk me deep into that padded leather seat, and the liftoff left my stomach in my toes.

I don't know how long I was up in that Waco biplane, shooting clouds, doing loops and snap-rolls, where even a simple standard-rate turn to the left was a moment of pure joy. It seemed like forever, and I almost wished it could be.

"Hey, that looks like our airplane." Eh? Oh ... back to reality, here. Tim jumped down off the wing and indicated that it was time for me to get out. I saw the cherry-red Citabria pull up and stop just outside the hangar that I had never really left. And with a heavy heart, I reluctantly hoisted myself out of that tiny piece of heaven on the prairies. Some day, perhaps, I will get to fly that Waco outside of my dreams, and then perhaps I will know that my life is complete. But for now, there was some real flying to do, and I was not about miss out.

Previous Index Next