Tales of the Colonial Skimmer:

The Colonial Skimmer is a great airplane.  I have owned mine, 270 Bravo, for almost 30 years.  In that time, I haven't put all that many hours on it ... but ... let me say:  what hours they were.  Actually, it wasn't just the flying hours.  More importantly, it was where those amphibious flying hours took me ... the people I met ... the adventures I had.  For example:

I used to fly into the airport at Port Townsend so frequently that I kept a vehicle there.  One time, though, I decided to land in Port Townsend Bay and beach land.  Well ... when I motored up to the beach, I found that it was to steep and soft for a "power-it-up" parking maneuver.  Well ... what to do?

After a little head scratching ... and ... some diplomatic discussion with the local people who gathered around when I beach landed ... I got the good citizens to help me rassle up and properly stow the plane in their otherwise inviolable waterfront public park ... empennage tied to a sturdy log and all.  It seems I met and made friends with half the town that weekend.

I flew into lakes and reservoirs not accessible by road. I flew with low ceilings, in bad visibility, low over water ... all the while knowing I could safely land any time the conditions exceeded my comfort level.

Never-the-less, beyond all this, I sometimes got more flying excitement than I expected.  Here are some examples.

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Hear the "Lake Pipes" Roar:

I was once "captured" and interrogated by the "Andy of Mayberry" sheriff of of Westport, a small town on Gray's Harbor, Washington.  I had flown there solo to meet up with some fishing buddies who had chartered us all a big old salmon boat for the next day.

The sheriff caught me "red handed" after I roared 270 Bravo up a long and steep, middle of town, boat launch ramp that was normally used by salmon fishermen. I was apprehended after I had motored across main street ... hand signaling a slight left turn ... over to a large parking lot used to store unloaded boat trailers.

Apparently no pilot had ever done that stunt there before. Sheriff "Tex" told me that the echoing roar of the "Lake Pipes" had rattled windows all over town.  It also turned out that a police APB had been put out for a tall, dark and handsome thief who had stolen an airplane in Wisconsin and was known to be heading west. How could I blame him for thinking I was the bad guy?

Well ... it took a couple of hours and an all expense paid ride in the back seat of "Barney's" police cruiser to the police station before we all made friends and I was able to join my fishing buddies at a local tavern for some beers and laughs. Needless-to-say, I got some serious bragging rights out of this one.

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Air Show Star:

I used to fly up to the San Juan Islands for the weekend. Once in a while, when I was lucky, I got to take a girlfriend with me.  As it happens, one time a gal and I were returning from the islands to my Boeing Field home base on a fine summer afternoon.  When I, like usual, dialed up the recorded information on the radio to get the local barometric pressure, active runway and wind data ... what I got was more than I had anticipated.

It turned out that, unbeknown to ole' last-to-know me, there was a big air show going on ... right there ... right then.  Well  ... what to do?  I really didn't want to divert to Paine Field in Everett, an adjacent city 25 miles away ... or Renton Airport ... somewhat closer to the south.  Brother ... what a predicament.  I was rather exasperated.  Then, in a moment of true inspiration, I had a bright idea: I dialed up the tower and in my best "Chuck Yeager southern drawl" said:

"Boeing Tower, this is Lake 270 Bravo ... an old, rare, classic, vintage and delightfully antique flying boat ... from the thrilling days of yesteryear ... returning to home port after a perilous flight down the full length of Puget Sound ... request the honor of making a wing-wagging low pass -- for the crowd -- before circling to land on 13 left".

To my surprise and wonder the tower came back with: "Roger 270 Bravo ... you are cleared for a low pass -- for the crowd -- and south landing."  I had happened to call in during a break in the scheduled aerobatic and war-plane flying exhibitions.  By bravado and good luck, the entire airspace was mine ... all mine!

Well, with a big grin on my face and a look of total incredulity on my girlfriends', we did our wing-wagging low pass fly-by and soon after, landed.  As we rolled out, I popped-and-flopped the windscreen-hatch so that we could wave to our thousands (literally) of admiring fans.

With the hatch open and the engine idling us down the runway (a fun way to taxi on any occasion), I heard the air show announcer came up on the loudspeakers with "... and now folks, as an unusual treat, please direct your attention and applaud the special guest appearance of a classic Colonial Skimmer".  He had actually recognized the type of airplane it was.  Unbelievable!  Well ... reveling in my 15 minutes of fame ... I thought to myself:  "Air show superstars Bud Granley and Bob Hoover move over ... there is a new kid in town."

Later that evening, my girlfriend happily demonstrated very enthusiastic gratitude for my arranging for us to be air show all-stars.  Some say I never fully returned from that flight!

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Mucking Around in Boats:

Once, I attempted a "gear down" high power beach landing on a remote reservoir lake on the Campbell River in British Columbia ... and ... got my main gear so stuck in the mud it took a full day of cold-wet-miserable work to dig underwater trenches for the wheels to escape the clutches of the mud.

From then on, when it comes to freshwater lakes and reservoirs, I have always first made a "gear up" soft and gentle beach landing to check out the shoreline muck level before trying a gear down, high power "ram it up the beach" landing.

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We are the "Wildlife":

I was temporarily arrested by a fish-and-game officer for landing on an inviting lake in Idaho that, from the air, I could see people water skiing on.  Unbeknown to me, at some times of the year, the lake was some kind of a wildlife refuge.  When the officer motored up in his boat and saw that a pretty girl and I were sunbathing on a wing, he just couldn't stand it ... he simply had to nail us on some arcane point of wildlife law.

The only thing that saved us was that it happened on a Sunday and he couldn't contact any higher level people to confirm that landing an airplane on the lake really was a violation of some sort. To the officers credit, once he realized he couldn't get us on anything concrete, he officiously motored all around in his boat to clear a "water skier safe" "runway" for us to take off the lake from.  We were sorry our sunbathing got cut short ... but ... were glad to get out of there otherwise unscathed.

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Speedboats Are Great Fun:

One time I found myself "VFR on top" over a low cloud bank that covered my intended runway on San Juan Island in Puget Sound.  I circled back about 6 miles out, found a hole, made a water landing and "speed boated on-the-step" onward to finally make a beach landing much closer to where I was going than where the airport was.

Though at the time I thought I was quite clever about this, I later learned that Alaska bush pilots pull this trick routinely.

All said, this is one of the truly great things about amphibians:  you can proceed safely into poor weather conditions while still having a safe and sane "Plan B".

For years I would fly up Puget Sound to the San Juan Islands 100 feet off the deck ... knowing that if the engine failed, I could land safely.  I never would have done this is a land airplane.

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International Goodwill:

Another time, I set up an international flight plan from my home port seaplane base on Lake Union in Seattle to visit a girlfriend in Victoria B.C. Canada.  The weather was stormy and the airplane took a pounding on take off in rough water conditions (serious whitecaps).  Unbeknown to me, the last badass "graybeard" wave I hit twisted the nose gear in its wheel well.  When I got to Victoria International Airport near the town of Sydney and selected "gear down," the mains came down ... but ... the nose gear stayed up ... sheeshka!

Well ... luckily for me, one edge of that airport borders a protected salt water inlet and has a huge boat ramp once used by fire bombing PBY Catalinas.  So ... I selected "gear up" and told the tower I would be making a water landing in a close by cove ... and then running up the boat ramp.  Once up on top, I would then request "taxi to parking" on the ground frequency, just like any other landing airplane just clearing a runway.

After a normal water landing, I opened the hatch, crawled out on the foredeck and, within a minute had straightened out the nose gear by just grabbing and twisting it.  I got back in the cockpit and selected "gear down." Happily, the nose gear dropped and locked.

I thought that would be the end of it ... but it wasn't.  Due to a weak battery and a high time engine, the motor wouldn't start.  I cranked it for a while doing what I could to coax it to life ... until the battery finally died.  Gaadddd ... under the influence of a gentle breeze, I was slowly but surely getting blown down onto a pretty grim looking hard rock shoreline.

What could I do?  Well ... after agonizing about it for a while, I started to undress in the cockpit.  I figured that I would jump overboard and try to fend the plane off the rocks.  The water was ice cold and the rocks large and sharp.  I didn't give myself good odds of saving the plane and wasn't looking forward to the effort I knew I was going to have to make.

Anyway,  I got my shoes and pants off and was just about ready take my shirt off and jump in when I looked around and saw two things:  1) a row of about 12 big fire trucks and other emergency response vehicles arriving and lining up on shore ... all with every light flashing and 2) a small outboard motor powered boat coming in to save me.

It turned out that one of the firemen, understanding my predicament, "borrowed-stole" a nearby parked boat to come and get me.  Mercifully ... he got a line to me just in the nick of time ... I was within 20 yards of the shoreline.  I was saved.  But wait ... there is more to the story:

Once we got to the ramp and a fire truck pulled the plane up to the top, me still sitting in the cockpit, I was greeted by all the rescue workers ... and ... a uniformed and distinguished older gentleman ... who was carrying a clipboard, with his pen poised above it.  In the excitement of it all, having completely forgotten that I wasn't wearing shoes and pants, I nonchalantly stepped out of the cockpit to meet and thank my rescuers and see what Mr. Clipboard wanted.

Well ... their eyes widened and their jaws dropped, as they looked me up and down.  Before anyone else could say or do anything, Mr. Clipboard stepped forward and in a formal and practiced tone of voice asked "Sir, do you have anything to declare!"  I had to smile ... the customs officer hadn't blinked an eye or missed a beat. 

Anyway ... the emergency crew thought the whole adventure was great fun and they ceremonially towed my plane, at the head of a rather impressive emergency vehicle parade, to one of their large hangar bays for "short term parking" and drove me to the main terminal where I could get ground transport to downtown Victoria.  I left having the funny feeling that some of the men suspected that I flew half naked all the time. Oh well ... all said ... no harm done.

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Ramping Up the Fun and Frolic:

Another time, my engine was getting to be over its 2000 hour TBO.  I flew the airplane anyway.  Since almost all of my flying was over water, I figured that if the engine quit I could land safely.  Finally, one day on take off from my home base water runway, Lake Union in the middle of north Seattle, I felt the airplane just wasn't climbing well at all.  I circled up, gradually climbing to the 3000 foot Seatac TCA floor.  By the time I got there, the engine was huffing and puffing and overheating.  Well, ... no problemo ... I just circled right back down and landed back on the lake I took off from, selected "gear down" and taxied over to my home base boat ramp.

When I got there and gave the engine full throttle like usual, the airplane didn't have the oomph needed to get up the ramp.  I was only half way up ... and ... suddenly stuck in a pickle.  If I shut off the engine with the idea of leaving the plane on the ramp and going for help, the airplane might slide backward down the ramp into the water ... or worse ... veer one wheel off the ramp and get "high centered" on the ramp edge.  I didn't think the wet brakes would hold the airplane in position on the ramp.  I looked around for someone to help me but ... for once, no one was nearby. Classic ...

So ... with the engine still running at flat pitch full RPM's, I decided to climb out of the airplane and, by grabbing the cockpit coaming, manhandle it up the ramp.  My plan worked ... but ... when the plane got to the top of the ramp, it almost ran away from me before I could get the wild thing throttled back ... "whoa Bessie."

Well ... the airplane was soon parked in its usual place in a small parking lot at the top of the ramp at Kurtzer's Aviation (now Kenmore Air Harbor) just north of downtown Seattle ... no harm done.  Obviously, I didn't attempt to fly it again until the engine got a complete, zero time, overhaul.  It currently has about 225 hours on the Hobbs. 

These Skimmers ... never a dull moment ...

 

My Last Flight:

At the time, I had no idea that I would never fly Colonial Skimmer 270 Bravo again.  This is how my last flight in this wonderful airplane ended:

It was a beautiful spring day and I was returning to Boeing Field in south Seattle with a friend.  We had had a good flight down the Sound.  I had done my usual "100 MPH - 100 foot altitude speedboat thing (safe in an amphibian ... and ... no need to keep a watch for other airplanes!).

When we got into the Seattle area, I popped up to pattern altitude, called in to the tower and then enjoyed a scenic, low and slow cruise down the Seattle waterfront toward the airport.  I did my usual "consummate-skill-kiss-on" (would I admit otherwise?) landing and had mentally moved on to switching the radio over to the ground frequency when ... all of a sudden ... the totally normal landing got really not normal.

As we rolled out and the airplane settled down onto its nose gear ... it kept settling down onto its nose gear ... like way down ... I'm talking all the way down ... down to the ground!  Due to low hydraulic pressure, the gear down lock had failed to lock and the nose gear had collapsed.

Well ... the airplane skidded down the runway on its "chin" ... all the while, making horrible scraping-grinding noises ... while I desperately tried to keep the swerving plane on the runway.  Luckily, the runway was wide and the designers of the airplane (thank you Thurston and Lindblad!) had opted for a free castering nose wheel.  With this design, steering is achieved by means of toe operated brakes on the main gear instead of the more common steerable nose wheel scheme.  Good luck and the Skimmer's steering system saved us from serious harm.

When we came to a halt part way down "13 left", shut down the engine and had caught out breath, my buddy and I got out to see what damage was done.  The answer was: surprisingly little.  The nose gear doors were all crenulated and a two foot section of the forward keel was ground down through a couple of layers of reinforcing channel ... and ... that was about it.

One of the really expensive things that often happens with a gear up landing is prop strike induced sudden stoppage damage to the engine.  Well ... with the Skimmer ... no problemo.  The prop and engine are on a support pylon up in back ... where no harm could come to them.

So ... while my buddy used his body weight to pull down the airplane tail end, I grabbed the collapsed nose gear, pulled it down out of the wheel well and manually locked it in the gear down position.  We then got back in the airplane and I dialed up the tower on the ground frequency.

In my best "Sky King" voice, which by then I had regained some control of, I radioed in: "Boeing Ground, Lake 270 Bravo, currently positioned midway down 13 left, request taxi to parking", all as if nothing unusual had happened.

Well, by then a large collection of emergency response vehicles ... you know ... fire engines, aid cars ... foam trucks ... had all gathered around and behind the airplane.  Within a few seconds, the air traffic controller came back on the radio with a totally deadpan: "Roger 270 Bravo ... taxi to parking ... have a nice day ... and ... enjoy your parade, you've earned it."

What fun! I fired up the engine and ... with the cockpit windscreen-hatch flopped open so that I could wave to all the amazed, amused and confounded airport people that were now lining the runway, we slowly led the rather impressive, all lights-flashing, procession down to the end of 13 left, across "big jet" 13 right and then promenaded, all in stately procession, on to my mid-field parking place.

After we were parked, I got to meet all kinds of interesting airport police and public safety people.  Mercifully, since no one was injured ... and ... little harm was done to the airplane, I did not receive the dreaded "please contact the tower" command.  As the bard once wrote:  All's well that ends well.