Lyin' about flyin'

G. GEORGE OSTROM / For the Hungry Horse News

Just found my old pilot's log and noticed my last flight is not entered. There is a reason. It's not a very good reason, but the only one.

A few local airplane drivers used to joke that G. Ostrom was probably the only guy in Montana who flew for ten years on a "learner's permit." That sensitive subject popped up again at coffee recently and a newcomer asked. "Why?" I lied, "Can't remember."

Took up personal flying in 1967 after spending a decade in routine as well as tough mountain flying with Forest Service fire patrols and Smokejumpers, but always with an experienced pilot in the left hand seat. After leaving the Forest Service I became involved in businesses with kid brother, Ritchey, and we did a lot of flying, from regular stuff around western states to fishing adventures in Canada and Alaska. Ritchey was a pilot's pilot. Everything was done precisely by the book. He was in good health but we both knew … things can happen.

We decided it would be wise if I took lessons, just in case he became disabled while we were airborne.

Made the first instruction flight with Mike Strand on July 1, 1967. Some people earn solo wings rapidly. Ritchey and his high school buddy, Ted Van, got theirs in less than 10 training hours back in the forties; however the log show me still practicing stall recovery, coordinated turns around a point and short field landings a year later. I justified this overly cautious approach from having enough personal knowledge of plane wrecks in the mountains to know, "This was very serious business."

One year and three months after beginning flight training, Strand told me to, "Go fly a plane," so I did. Continued with instruction but also began buzzing around by myself. Did not choose to devote the required time, energy and expense to get a "private" license, which would include the skills I felt necessary to fly passengers.

Craziest flight I took? Jack Mulford, Ritchey and I were fighting the nicotine, so we gave the company accountant a coffee can with three $100 bills in it. Told her we could earn a bill by catching another one smoking. Jack caught Ritchey the same day so he got Ritchey's 100 bucks. Next day Ritchey caught Jack, who then began haunting my life.

One time I went to an upstairs bathroom in our repair shop. Locked the door, planning to sneak a cig, but Jack's eyeballs came peeping over the window sill. Don't know how he climbed the outside wall. Paranoia set in. Imagined Jack behind every door and bush.

After a couple desperate weeks I hit upon a plan. Went to the airport and rented a plane. Hadn't flown for a while, so had to take a check ride then flew alone in climbing zig zags to an area over Ashley Lake. Did the circles to see if Jack might be following in another plane. Feeling safe at last, I lit up a Lucky and started coughing. Didn't taste as good as it should have but I finished it and another one before flying back. Those were the most expensive cigarettes I'd ever smoked, but felt I'd really outwitted Ol' Mulford.

Sometime in late 1971 I had a note payment due on land at Crystal Lake, and luckily got a call from a potential customer in Libby. Told him I'd be up there next day. Bright and early went to Strands and rented a small Piper and taxied it out on the apron, very excited while mentally preparing my coming sales pitch. Nearing the end of the runway on takeoff I realized too late the plane lacked power, but had to risk taking off with stall horn honking. Wobbled over a wrecking yard to open fields and discovered I could actually gain altitude very slowly. Eventually had 1,000 feet and grabbed the check list. Soon found the problem. In hasty prep, I'd left a switch set on only one magnito, which was going bad. When I flipped to "both" position, the engine roared full RPM.

The adrenaline shakes took over so badly I had to fly around until that wore off. Back at the airport, parked the plane and surrendered my license to Strand before heading for Libby by car.

If Mike gave my license back I probably tore it up, and have not flown solo since. Can't remember a date to record that final flight, but I do know one thing, "G. Ostrom did not fly on a learner's permit for ten years."

It was barely … five.

G. George Ostrom is a Kalispell resident and a national award-winning Hungry Horse News columnist.