Here he was, at Skippers Cove airstrip, checking out an A22 Foxbat, and not far away was the local emergency helicopter, a Bell 412, with RESCUE emblazoned in huge red letters on the tail.
He walked the length of the A22. It seemed big up close, but when you saw them in the air they looked like little dragonflies buffeting about in the wind. The Foxbat was a standard light aircraft; Dad could fly one of those too, had learnt on an A22, up in Perth. But he reckoned he preferred a glider any day, the natural competence of it, he said; the fact that you were part of nature when you were up there and had to rely on the wind and the land and the way they interacted to fly. Dad said that, other than hang-gliding, it was as close to being a bird a person could get. Peaceful was the word he always used.
Over at the hangar, Reg and Dad were hooking up the Drifter. It was a blue spring day with a cottonwool cloudbank in the distance. Spencer felt the familiar pang of midmorning hunger and jogged over to grab one of the muesli bars Mum had packed.
‘How are ya, son?’
‘Good thank you, Reg.’
‘Hungry already, are ya?’ he laughed as Spencer reached into the glider for the food bag. ‘Eat ya outta house an’ home, does he, Doc?’
‘You got it, Reg. We’re not quite at the seventeen-Weet-Bix stage, but it won’t be long, I reckon.’
Reg smiled. ‘They keep ya young, don’t they? That’s what Ray always loved about our three. Said they kept her young an’ fun.’
‘And heaven knows we all need that,’ Dad said wryly.
‘You’re spot-on there, Doc. Spot-on.’ Reg went quiet then, and Dad’s eyes rested on Spencer’s for a moment.
‘Muesli bar, anyone?’ Spencer said, reading his code. He held out the bag. ‘Apple?’
‘Not for me thanks, lad. Save it for you young ones, eh?’
Dad laughed. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been called that.’
Reg patted the flank of the Drifter. ‘Reckon we’d better get this show on the road before those clouds spoil your fun.’
Dad looked over at the bank of cumulonimbus puffing up in the south like steam from an old train. ‘We’re flying away from that,’ he said, looking at Spencer. ‘Those clouds’ll be beautiful from up high, Spence.’
Spencer nodded, looking up into the blue glare.
‘Let’s get our safety check happening, Reg.’
‘Right on,’ said Reg, reaching to the pilot’s seat for a clipboard with a checklist on it. ‘Okay. No outstanding maintenance to be done. Tick.’ Then he hauled himself into the cockpit and pointed his pen at each dial, one by one. ‘Right. Flight controls an’ instruments all in order.’
‘That’s a good start,’ said Dad.
Reg hopped out then and walked along the Drifter’s body. He tilted the flaps this way and that. ‘Airframe an’ moving control panels A-okay,’ he murmured, marking up the sheet. Then he moved down to the wheels. He kicked the tyres gently. ‘Tyres okay.’ He crouched down and checked the wheel brakes. ‘Brakes good.’
‘Nearly there, boys, won’t be a minute now.’
‘That’s fine Reg, take your time,’ said Dad, and Spencer nodded, fairly vigorously.
‘Just gunna check the tow-rope release mechanism now.’
He walked around the plane to each wing. ‘Wing lock safety pins an’ connectors checked. Okay Doc: we’re safe to go.’
Dad looked at Spencer and grinned. ‘The Drifter—she’s a little beauty, eh, Spence? A little beauty.’