At last we had a plane, and a good one, a four-seat low-wing Cirrus that was a leader in its class. A very safe aircraft, too: its composite moulded fuselage included a full-sized parachute for use in dire emergencies.
The day after finalising the Cirrus I packed my bags to go to Sydney where my manager Dave and I had meetings with both 60 Minutes and Telstra. 60 Minutes was doing a story on the adventure and Telstra had agreed to become the principal partner. Not only was Telstra a sponsor offering a financial contribution – much needed at the time – but they were also offering their telecommunication resources. These, from a mobile phone to the installation of a satellite phone and tracker in the Cirrus, were absolutely vital. Meetings with the 60 Minutes producers and Telstra were aimed at giving each organisation a deeper and better understanding of Teen World Flight, exactly what a solo around-the-world flight would entail.
After seeing Telstra and 60 Minutes I flew to Tamworth in central New South Wales to meet David, the owner of the Cirrus. Dave was a great guy with a solid background in flying Cirrus aircraft, and we wandered into the hangar where I met my new best friend – A 2009 Cirrus SR22 with the registration VH-OLS, or Victor Hotel Oscar Lima Sierra. It was white with black and grey decals splitting the blank fuselage into a work of art. It was sleek, without rivets, struts or wires: a machine that the Wright Brothers could have only dreamed about. The thick composite propeller sat still, seen easily from the interior that was equipped with very advanced avionics, and everything else that was needed for a young pilot to travel the world alone. It was beautiful.
It was also sitting high on jacks because it was halfway through its major inspection, the one that was undertaken every 100 flying hours. While it was being finished off David and I went flying in another Cirrus, talking over the main points of the aircraft. We got in, pushed the throttle forward and took to the sky. For me a Cirrus was an absolute rocket ship, capable of speeds around the circuit that were faster than anything I had experienced to date. It was also comfortable. The stick sat off to one side and with the door closed, my arm comfortably rested in a natural position. With little more than a thought, the plane would dart about the sky. I was hooked. One short flight in the now ready VH-OLS with an instructor the next day and I was ready to go. I fuelled up, we shook hands and I thanked David yet again, waved goodbye and took off.
I flew to Caboolture, north of Brisbane, where I was to take part in an Advanced Pilot Seminar or APS. Most of the time I was trying to work out the intricacies of the new plane and taking note of such things as its cruise speed, fuel burn and overall performance. I touched down, very narrowly missing a flock of birds, tied the aircraft down, covered it up and headed to a motel.
The Advanced Pilot Seminar focused on correct engine management techniques. With one engine and a lot of ocean to cross I listened carefully and took notes. The course was being run by David Brown, who had organised my initial talk at the AusFly air show and the APS crew. Advanced Pilot Seminars had just been introduced into Australia, and David had help from John Deakin and Walter Atkinson who had run these seminars in the USA. John had near on 40,000 flying hours and a lot of very good stories, many of which were hilarious. The knowledge he and Walter had about the aviation industry was simply phenomenal.
David, John, Walter and the crew looked after me extremely well. They knew what I was up against and offered as much advice as they could, including some one-on-one conversations when the weekend was over. They came to the airport with me to look at the Cirrus, we said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch. I took off with my head crammed with information, knowing that I was much better informed than I had been before coming to Caboolture.
I flew south to Port Macquarie on the mid north coast of New South Wales where I had completed my instrument rating training; I needed to spend a couple of days refreshing these skills and applying them to the new aircraft. We flew a few navigation exercises and covered the skills I had learned not so long before. The Port Macquarie stopover was important; not only did I brush up my skills but it boosted my confidence as a pilot when I was under so much other pressure.
From Port Macquarie I headed home, flying the Cirrus through the clouds to Merimbula. Landing there after all the stress, doubt and worry was a triumphant moment. I now had a beautiful and very advanced aircraft which I would fly from Wollongong in just over a month’s time. It represented the perfect end to the two hardest weeks of my life.
The biggest issue we now faced was altering the already completed planning to suit the Cirrus. This involved changing such things as registration numbers and speeds on a flight plan. These were challenging enough, but storing and carrying fuel inside the aircraft proved an even bigger issue.
A week of calculations and phone calls led us to a solution that we felt would work. We would remove the rear seat and install a 600-litre fuel ‘bladder’, a soft baglike tank that would lie deflated and flat when empty. When full it would be secured by a carefully structured and designed network of ratchet straps. We began on the paperwork, organising the EOs, or engineering orders, to have the modifications on the certified aircraft approved. We had weight and balance figures calculated – the maximum weight with which the Cirrus was allowed to take off – but would have to increase that by 20 per cent because of the extra fuel and equipment we were carrying. We measured the aircraft and sent the figures through to the sign-writer to allow the sizing of the sponsor decals; although we continued to seek sponsorship we needed to begin printing decals for the plane. The addition of Telstra to the list of sponsors had been fantastic and a phenomenal help, but we were still far behind our allocated budget, a sum of money that had only ever been based on estimates and educated opinions. We were lucky that through a friend at Merimbula airport, Bruce, we were able to have the sign-writing organised and applied by Bruce himself. We had to get the Cirrus as ready as possible for what would be a very important media day.
I flew the Cirrus to Wollongong to meet Dave. We were about to embark on some filming with 60 Minutes as well as flying beside the Channel 9 news helicopter to gather some air-to-air shots of the plane that had now been christened the Spirit of the Sapphire Coast.
The night before we started filming with 60 Minutes we had dinner with the crew; I would meet them in several places as I flew around the world. My story had been assigned to Charles Woolley, a long-serving member of the 60 Minutes family. Although seen regularly reporting on serious stories and current affairs, Charles Woolley was just a normal friendly guy. He had opinions on different things, spoke about family and friends, liked to have a beer, expressed his hatred and frustration towards leaf blowers. If I could somehow retell his jokes about them I would, but I can’t.
We met at the airport the next morning early enough for 60 Minutes to take a shot of the hangar doors opening as the sun rose. I flew the Cirrus alongside the news chopper, with senior news reporter Mark Burrows in the right-hand seat, to gather some footage for the evening bulletin. The whole morning was a constant rush, not only because of the filming – we also had to kit out the Cirrus with several cameras so 60 Minutes could capture the entire solo journey. Dave’s amazing organisation saw interviews with television, newspapers, magazines and radio all crammed into one day. That afternoon Charles Woolley, or Uncle Charles as he suggested I could call him, climbed into the Cirrus and we flew south to Merimbula. The rest of the crew drove by road, all meeting the next morning for a final day of pre-flight filming.
Within a few hours we had visited my old school, Sapphire Coast Anglican College, and filmed a talk with the kids. We then travelled home where Mum and Dad were waiting. With Mum being a clean freak at the best of times, the fact that Charles Woolley was popping over to say hi made things interesting. Any family gathering meant that the house had to be spotless, let alone having a 60 Minutes TV presenter come and visit. There was not a speck of dust in that house.
I stood back after finishing my filming and watched as Mum and Dad were interviewed; it hit me suddenly that Charles Woolley from 60 Minutes was sitting at our kitchen table. Wow. He was genuinely interested in the flight and we all responded to his warmth and curiosity.
And now, after so much practice, once again we packed my bags, carefully checking and double-checking everything. The last of the equipment was gathered and piled at the door. Some of the remaining decals were applied to the aircraft. Emails were sent, good wishes were received and the days on the calendar were disappearing.
Further talks with our new partner Telstra, with their goal to connect me in every way possible, saw the installation of a satellite phone into the aircraft. This allowed long-distance communication when the HF radio did not work or when other means of contacting family and team members failed.
I had only one job left to do – to install the fuel tank into the aircraft. The regulations in relation to fitting additional tanking into the Cirrus were very strict, and the operation had to be carried out very close to departure. With only days left I flew north to Kempsey in central New South Wales, where Darren and the crew at Macleay Aircraft Maintenance began fitting the tank into the aircraft. I watched every move, learning where each fitting went and why it was there. There was a good chance I would need to understand this if something happened to go wrong during the trip, so now was the time to learn. Along with the tank, a HF radio used for long-distance communication was fitted for use over water when the normal aircraft radios were out of range. To service the radio inside the cabin a long wire aerial was fitted to the exterior of the aircraft, running from nose to tail underneath the belly of the plane before extending at waist height to the right wing tip, where it was secured.
From the front seats rearward the aircraft was stripped, the trim and seats were taken out, leaving room for the tank. The ratchets, all six brightly coloured straps, lay across the tank like netting. A selection of fuel lines ran under the seat and into the right foot well where they joined an array of fuel and hand pumps. These would take fuel from the bladder tank inside the cockpit and let it transfer via a fuel line running under the wing into the right-wing fuel tank. When the switches were turned on, the right tank would fill with fuel, increasing the aircraft endurance from five hours to a whopping seventeen without stopping.
We filled the tank with a small amount of fuel, I clambered into an aircraft that now smelt like fuel and took off. I circled over Kempsey to test the system. From what I could tell the tank worked okay with a reduced fuel load, but the real test would come when the tank was full. Unfortunately that was not an option at this time due to Australian aviation regulations defining when and where the tank could be used, so I packed up, said goodbye and flew the aircraft home.
With the Merimbula airport undergoing maintenance, the Cirrus was put into a hangar at Frogs Hollow. I worked between home and the airport, finishing up the final jobs at home while I zipped back and forth to the plane. We installed cameras into the aircraft and spent an afternoon with Rex, Eddie and the maintenance boys changing the oil and learning a few more skills. With the engine covered up and wiped down, the last equipment fitted and tested, we closed up the hangar. The next time I would see the aircraft would be the day I departed for Wollongong.
The clock was ticking away, rushing by a little too quickly. I had packed all I could, we had checked everything over and over again and now I was left with little to do except go to bed. Finally, after years of work, I was nearing my comfort zone, sort of. I checked the weather and planned to depart Merimbula the next morning. It might have been the beginning of an unknown adventure, a type of flying that I had never experienced before, over water and through outrageously different environments, cultures and situations, but it was flying. That was all that mattered.
I woke up early after a night of little sleep and a lot of thinking. Showered, dressed in the flight suit, packed toothbrush and bags in the ute.
The plan was to fly the aircraft from the little Frogs Hollow grass airstrip to Merimbula early that morning. The Merimbula runway was opening just in time for my planned departure celebration. Constant rain had been battering the Sapphire Coast so a quick check of the runway at Merimbula would be required before attempting a landing in the Cirrus. This was not the day for taking chances and mine would be one of the first aircraft landing on the newly upgraded runway.
Dad and I set off for Frogs Hollow while everyone else planned to meet us at Merimbula. As we drove past home, I spun around and wondered: ‘Will I ever see this place again?’ I knew from a mathematical and logical point of view, considering our planning and priority towards safety, that I would. But my mind was playing games; there were times when it took absolutely no notice of common sense.
I opened the hangar and Dad and I wheeled the Cirrus out into the open air. It was a cloudy, dreary day with skies threatening another downpour. One by one other pilots arrived at Frogs, all members of the aero club who would be flying to Merimbula to see me off. I completed my thorough pre-flight inspection and packed the aircraft in the quiet surrounds of the little grass airstrip, knowing Merimbula was beginning to fill with locals. I started up and taxied away.
It was a short flight but an enjoyable one, leaving Frogs with a quick look over the shoulder at an airstrip and aero club that had played such a huge part in my flying life. I headed through a gap in the surrounding hills before descending into Merimbula. Normally it was a sunny coastal town but today it was overcast, and a glance to the north confirmed low-lying cloud in the direction of Wollongong. I touched down at Merimbula and taxied straight to the bowser; all that was left to do was to refuel and apply some of the last stickers before departure.
The aircraft was wheeled into Rex’s hangar at Merimbula Aircraft Maintenance and Bruce, who had organised much of the sign-writing, was on hand to apply the last decals. I zipped away to put in a flight plan, an official notification to air traffic control as to who you are, where and when you are flying, and to check the weather. As I walked back I spotted the ever-growing crowd pushed up against a makeshift fence, all squinting for a look into the hangar and the Cirrus.
It was vital to me, however long it took, to have the last of the sponsors’ logos added to the aircraft, including the aircraft’s name – The Spirit of the Sapphire Coast, encompassing the hard work put in by both the Frogs Hollow Aero Club and the local area. Without the support of each and every sponsor: the individuals who passed on small amounts including international currency for food; the clubs and organisations teaming together to raise funds; the hundreds of members of the 500 Club; the shops that fundraised through a ‘loose change jar’; up to the large organisations such as Telstra and our other corporate sponsors including Snap, Dick Smith Foods, Jeppesen, QBE, Dale and Hitchcock and many others, the flight would have simply not gone ahead. This support showed the world that a young person with a dream, courage and commitment, can and will find support within the community to help their objective become a reality. All of us represented that it was possible to leave Merimbula with a common dream to conquer the world.
We disconnected the fence, parted the crowd like the Red Sea in the Bible and had the aircraft towed to the taxiway. We had a quick chat standing on a makeshift stage and with a thank you to all involved, I said goodbye and hopped into the Cirrus. I started up and as soon as the aircraft was firing, both Mum and Dad cut a ribbon – evidently a structurally sound device keeping me within the confines of Merimbula airport – then I was free. As I began my checks, a lengthy process, everyone began cheering and a stream of water shot from the fire truck. I have no idea whether everyone was excited or they just wanted to get rid of me so they could go and grab breakfast. However, finally I was finished and taxied towards the end of the runway.
I lifted off, turning immediately to come back around over the airfield once more, and with a pass overhead I rocked my wings to wave goodbye and focused on climbing ahead through a low cloud base en route to Wollongong.
Although I would officially depart from Wollongong early the following morning, it was safe to say I had truly left home. The familiar coastline and surrounding areas where I learned to fly were behind me, the cloud that engulfed the aircraft made things a little easier as, with no sight of the ground or water, I could have been anywhere. Each memory, whether a first solo, my first navigation flight or the fun times flying the coast with family and friends were all based around this area. Hopefully the next memory, the successful end to a solo circumnavigation, would happen in these skies in just a few months’ time.
I touched down in Wollongong after an approach through the rain-filled clouds from the south and taxied to a large hangar. The doors were only just cracked open, sheltering the contents of the building from the pouring rain, yet within that small crack was a bunch of media personnel and cameras filming my arrival. I climbed out, said hello and for the next twenty minutes proceeded to walk back and forth to the aircraft in the rain for the benefit of the cameras.
We filmed that afternoon with a number of people, ticking off the media for the evening news stories. Again Dave took control and told me where to go and what to do. Without that I would have been lost. Telstra filmed for a few hours, calmly holding an umbrella as I stuttered my way through various interviews.
As I worked away I received a text message from Dick Smith. He wanted to know whether I would be in Wollongong that afternoon. He would be off overseas early the following morning and therefore miss my departure.
Months earlier Dad and I had visited Dick at his property in Canberra; in a fast low-wing wooden Falco we had borrowed from a friend, Ian Newman, we had touched down on Dick’s airstrip only two hours after he called to invite us over for lunch. We parked the aircraft and climbed aboard a nearby train, a real train, and rode through Dick’s property to the front door of his house. At lunch Dick had asked whether I was superstitious. I bluffed through the moment wondering what he meant, and then he offered something amazing.
Dick explained that he had an original piece of fabric from Sir Charles Kingsford Smith’s plane, the Southern Cross, which he had acquired many years before. Dick had taken it with him on five around-the-world flights, it had gone with Gaby Kennard when she became the first Australian woman to circumnavigate the globe solo and it was given to Jessica Watson, the youngest person to sail solo around the world. Other adventurers had also had it as their good luck charm. It had always come home. That day Dick asked whether I too would like to take the fabric with me, and I was naturally honoured to accept.
However, a little later Dick had called to let me know that the fabric, which he had taken with him on a recent helicopter trip, had been left with the helicopter in an inland town. It was a major disappointment: the symbolic value of that piece of cloth, reminding me of my grandfather and the stories of him flying in this very airplane, the Southern Cross, with Kingsford Smith himself, was immense.
At Wollongong we kept filming in the wind and rain. We then heard a whine of a jet engine and walked outside to see that a Cessna Citation business jet had just touched down. The jet taxied up to the hangar and parked only metres away. Behind the window was Dick Smith, smiling from ear to ear and waving something in his hand. Dick jumped from the jet and ran across the tarmac towards me. In his hand was the fabric from the Southern Cross.
He said he had woken up that morning and driven to the Bankstown airport just south of Sydney. With a member of his crew he had climbed into his jet and flown out west to the helicopter, solely to bring the fabric back to Wollongong. He explained that he did not want to see me leave without it even if that took ‘the most expensive retrieval mission I have ever been on’ to make it happen.
It was a small grey square of fabric two or three inches across, and I secured it to the cockpit dashboard where I would always be able to see it. It joined granddad’s pilot logbook which I had hidden away in the aircraft.
Dick wished me well and flew off, we finished filming and then with the help of friends we filled the aircraft’s ferry tank with enough fuel for the first leg of the flight, to Norfolk Island. It was a challenging task, one I hadn’t completed before and I was grateful for sets of extra hands, especially in the rain. I strapped in the tank, covered it with sheets of foam ready for my bags to be put in the next morning. We pushed the Cirrus back into the hangar, took the bags to the car and headed to the motel. That night, after checking the forecast weather several times, we dressed up and set off for dinner with a huge number of family and friends. We relaxed and chatted but called it an early night. Everyone was leaving very early the following morning for the Illawarra Regional Airport for something that had sometimes seemed impossible – the beginning of a 24,000 nautical mile, 45,000 kilometre journey that would take me, hopefully, solo around the world.