Marathon Mum

Imogene Chamberlain is a member of the unique band of long-distance ferry pilots bringing light aircraft to Australia from North America. On her latest trip she has most certainly set a record for being the first woman pilot to ferry a tiny Lake Buccaneer solo across the Pacific in giant hops.

Sitting in Adams Aviation hangar, Sydney, Imogene calmly totted up her total flying rime for this marathon ferry trip:

• 96. 7 hours flying time.
• Longest leg, 19. 2 hours, from Ensenada, California, to Hilo, Hawaii.

AADR heard Imogene’s story first-hand while she sat watching mechanics unshipping the overload tanks from her­ little ship – nick-named Miz’ Blue, after a favourite US car­toon character.

Imogene was no stranger to the Pacific crossing. She’s already done one in a much bigger single, a Mooney 201 she dubbed the Fairy Princess. She flew then in company with a Cessna floatplane, naturally enough named the Ugly Duckl­ing.

The plan for this latest trip was to fly two Buccaneers across to Adams Aviation, in Company with a Cessna 172XP. Lead pilot was to be Peter Goldstern, a veteran ferry pilot, fly­ing one of the Lakes.

From Houston to Ensenada was plain flying. And then it was a case of hold, hold, hold, until favourable weather presented itself. The trio waited a week and a half – a long time when one considers that these pilots don’t get financial red carpet treatment all the way.

Overloads topped up – she didn’t give the overload factor or total tankage, but that little Buccaneer was virtually a flying gas-tank with two metal tanks taking up the space normally occupied by three of the four seats, and another tank taper­ ing way back into the tail section – the trio eventually got the met. they were looking for; a helping swing from a pressure system which meant tailwinds.

Take-off was long, careful. Undercart tucked away, Imogene set Miz’ Blue’s power settings for max. cruise around the 100kt mark, and settled down . . .

Peter was doing the main navigating in the other amphi­bian. He carried a bubble sextant for daylight sights. All three kept a D/R plot going, in between reading, keeping a lookout and carrying out routine instrument scans.

The first eight hours were night-flying. The three little air­ craft flew in loose formation, keeping in touch by sighting nav. lights and occasionally checking their relative positions by r/t. The Cessna 172XP carried HF – the two duck-birds only had VHF, and ADF.

The weather was at first good. Bright moonlight and good visibility. Imogene occasionally took sips of water (“No tea or coffee – they’re diuretics”) and found her main problem was rapidly becoming evident.

Where the hell should she put her feet?

She tried parking them between the rudder pedals. On top of the pedals. Across the tiny, cramped cabin to where part of an overload tank provided an out-jutting footstool. Under her bottom . . .

She was still grappling with the foot problem when the weather closed in.

Cloud built up, deteriorating to heavy rain and turbulence. Buffeting became another problem. This went on for three hours or more, until the three little ships popped out the other side of a significant front, on course for Hilo.

“It was pretty cool,” said Imogene in retrospect. “We voice-checked with each other again. It got light, and I could see the sea and wind-lanes well from around 5000ft, although we occasionally went lower to take advantage of what favourable winds we could calculate.

“I read a little, thought a lot, made plans for silly, unimpor­tant things. Later in the day, and a lot of fruit later, our ADFs started sensing . . . we found we could pick up the first hints of stations from about 500 miles out of Hilo.

“Now and again we saw a ship below – more chattering on the r/t. ‘D’you see that ship down there guys?’ ‘Yes, we see it. ‘

“But mostly it was a case of checking fuel, flying the aircraft and keeping a running plot going, altering course when Peter had taken his sun-sights and checked our position.”

Hilo sighted, and a landing made more than 19 hours after take-off from Ensenada, Imogene got up to get out of the Buccaneer after stowing her gear.

She almost collapsed – or at least, her legs did. All the shif­ting around in the world hadn’t stopped them from almost going to sleep . . .

The rest of the trip was small beer compared to that giant stride for woman.

“I got a kick out of seeing the Australian coastline – we hit it near Coolangatta, and flew down the coast to Sydney, then across to Bankstown,” she added.

Typically non-committal comment from a pilot who has known great distances, solitude despite the far-off company of two other pilots in other aircraft over a lonely seascape, and sensed the puny inadequacy of humanity in the midst of a cloudy nothingness.

Any problems? None – not even “that” one. “People ask­ed me about it, and we women pilots use a device called (with typical American cuteness) a Jill-john.”

Will she be coming this way again?

She hopes so. Ferry pilots are a breed apart — they have to have spare time and, in Imogene’s case, a considerate husband. He flies too, and maybe she can bring him over as a companion ferry pilot next time.